Junkyard Post Two Week Five

Our Landlord has a kitten. The first thing one of the roommates says to me when I walked through the door. This kitten, all white with six black smears on the rump, is about as long my forearm and mews slightly when I picked him up. His claws clench my shirt when he spots my earrings, and I shift him to the right. He claws my boob. Placing him down, he runs to the food bowl under the chair and sneezes while drinking. Looking around the garden, I imagine he has much to play with: from the white dandelions, to the small bricks piled against the wall, but still one of the boys picks him up, cuddles him in the crook of his arm and brings him inside to sleep. It's only in the morning that he regrets it: the cat poops at 7:00 sharp, carrying him outside makes for three plops on the floor and using half a bottle of Listerine for disinfectant.