The Writer Is Left Alone Again

“No,” Emma answered, laughing slightly. “It’s just really weird that you’ve got company. All you usually have is that cantankerous, ornery old cat.”

Scooter hissed, and I patted him comfortingly. “Come, come now, Emma, he heard you and you hurt his feelings.”

Emma ‘harumph’ed over the phone. “He can be as mad as he wants to. He’s not sinking those fangs of his into me any time soon!”

“Oh, Ems, you really can be prejudiced at times,” I said, scratching Scooter in between the ears. He gave a purr of pleasure. His fur was white, with patches of ginger and gray all over.

“Ha! Prejudiced, she says. He’s a manipulative little feline!” Emma continued to protest, and I just gave a chuckle in response.

“Anything big happen lately?” I asked, and gave Scooter another stroke.

“No…not really; but there’s a hot shot business man coming over next week,” Emma offered.

“Okay, Ems. I’ll talk to you later.”

We said our goodbyes, and I was soon left with only the solitary beep of the dial tone.

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