Fickle Ficlets

Just as I was heading out for some fresh air (was he rotting already?), the cat finally spoke.
I nearly dropped my keys. I waited for it to continue. It fixed me with that stare but said nothing more.
The cat flicked its tail and began to lick its paw.
Was I hearing things? The car below my window was still alarming. It had been blaring for some time, ever since I dropped my old typewriter through the windshield. But above the noise, I was reasonably certain I had heard the cat speak.
Shrugging, I turned for the door.
I glanced sideways so the cat wouldn’t see me falling for its trick again. It was staring at me. At that point, I realized that I had less than 250 characters to solve this cat mystery.
At that point, I was desperate.
I snagged it by its neck and flung it through the window. It spun and scrabbled for a hold on the window sill, but it was too late. It landed a few feet short of the typewriter. But, as I watched from the window, it shook itself off, and glared up at me.

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