stew luck is green snot 011129 ... ovenbird I must have left the sliding door open, because I found an orange tabby asleep on my dog’s bed. Its fur was dirty and flecked with ash. One ear looked like nylon rope melted in the heat of a cruel flame. She let me stroke her matted head, and began to purr when I reached the spot between her eyes. Fear of disease compelled me to bring her back outside. But I set her up on the patio with an old dog bed and a dish of water. I left her sleeping in the sun. Later, at dinner, I picked at the strange grey meat on my plate. I put a stringy morsel on my tongue and tasted the inside of a dog’s ear. “What is this?” I asked, unable to swallow. “Oh, I cooked up the cat,” he said, still stirring something in a huge pot on the stove. I entered the kitchen and peered into the cauldron sized crock. The orange pelt floated in a muddy soup, as if it had been slipped off like a flea infested fur coat, and set to boil. As my stomach rebelled I wondered what else he’d fed me over the years. How many discarded lives had he boiled down for stock and slipped into the bowl of my yearning? 260718 what's it to you? who go blather from