Call me thing #2. Some games back—no big how deep back—me with little or no playthings to be had, and no box to bump in, I came to the shine to go to the big wet house. It is a way I have of to shake away the fear and shame. When I find me to be a mess; when there is a wet cold thing in my sun and no sally to my step; and too when my deep down shake like kites with no string, and I see me tip any hat off any cat for no good want—then, I see it well that I go to the big wet house as now as I can. This is my plaything for all the bad I can do. There is nothing funny about this, or this me; if they but could think it, all cats, whether pink or red, want the big fish, and all cats see the big wet house as I do.
George McCormick teaches writing in the David T. Kearns Center at the University of Rochester.
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