FIB: Little B in the Bin
Poor Little B! this morning we awoke to his crying. Black Little B is a normally vociferous cat, he meows just to let you know he’s around, if he wants to come in, if he wants to go out, if he needs help up on your lap. His dwarfed body rides in and out of shadows. His voice is tall because he is not, because his blackness is a camouflage that can get him stepped on. Little B is on the short end of any stick, he’s a midget even by cat standards, a perpetual kitten.
If he is small, he must be large.
Not large enough to get himself out of the trash, where on the bottom of the empty green bin he bellowed through the night. I don’t know how he got in there, why he would go in there, there was nothing else in there, just Little B at the bottom of the bin, crying his heart out. Lucky his voice is large and did not fail him, I washed him.
He doesn’t remember. He forgot his long night the moment he was back on open ground. Little B walked off with his tail up, the end drooped like a hook. One long night in a stinky green bin abyss and he is not any weaker or stronger, just maybe a bit smarter… We’ll see in the morning.
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