WINE-SOTTED AND HAPPY
The elegant little black kitty ignored what I had thought (but did not say out loud), and continued lapping at the sacrificial wine.
The deity for whom it was intended did not strike her down.
It was near the doorway of a shop in Chinatown, where an earthgod altar faced the street and protected the premises. The winecup was being rapidly exhausted by the resident feline.
The pussycat paid me less mind than I paid it.
It's identical sibling lives next door.
They nuzzle on the sidewalk.
One of them drinks.
Both felines seem confident and well-fed. Which holds for all the cats in Chinatown, except for the guard-beast of a vegetable shop; it is well-fed, but it distrusts creatures bigger than a cabbage, and white.
It has always looked at me with a careful air.
From which you can deduce that I am larger than a cabbage.
I am assuming that all the cats are female. Which may be wrong, but femininity seems a feline characteristic.
I like cats.
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