On Saturday, I presented myself at grandpa's house, with all my scant belongings (comprising two suitcases, plus a bunch of books tied in a rope) and knocked on the door.
"Are you sure about this?" Jack asked, as he lowered the cage to the floor.
"Of course," I replied, as Bettie came, with grandpa behind her.
"Hi, Gramps," I said. "I brought a protector to the house."
And then I opened the cage, letting the cat out, wearing thick leather gloves, so she couldn't scratch me. She didn't even try, though. She stepped out, at a leisurely pace, and sat before the entrance.
"I can see that," grandpa said, eyeing the cat. "Where did you even get this cat? Black cats are rare."
"In the garbage dump," I replied. "She was there, eating the leftovers. I could see she was starving, so she doesn'
