Salem runs up to me out of breath and panting. “Where’s a good place to hide?” His eyes dart around the room.

“The teenager’s room. You’ll never be found in there.” I flick my paw toward the smelly room down the hall.

Salem looks in that direction then asks, “What does ‘teenager’ mean, anyway?”

“Someone who doesn’t bathe.” Geez, I have to explain everything.

I narrow my eyes, “Why are you hiding?”

“You know that special blankie our human always points to and says don’t touch it?”


“I touched it.”

4 thoughts on “#HandKnittedCashmere

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