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Alex Loch

Three Line Thriller!

As darkness fell, a large main coon named Chuck, our neighborhood mascot who acted more like a canine than a feline, stood on the sidewalk staring up its winding drive, watching, waiting, debating on whether he should return home. As I came up beside him I noticed three things at once, the low growl coming from our usually friendly Chuck, the shine off the eyes of a huge figure staring back at us from the entrance of the drive, and that the dark figure was unmistakably a quadruped.


“Nope,” is all I said before I scooped up the heavy furry burden at my feet and beelined it back home to call the authorities.





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