To learn more about this exercise check out the Writing Exercise page Who: Sloth What: Wants to learn how to talk Why: It wants to be a guitar player Where: Cat heaven When: 1920s Ya see, this cat wasn't no usual customer. If ya looked real close, he didn't even resemble a cat. Nobody 'round here had seen 'im before, but he fit in. He didn't say much. Mysterious type. The flapper cats were always hanging around him after a show. Real cool like he'd listen to what they had to say. I think that's why dem girl cats like him so much. Sittin' there all sloth-like with his guitar slung over eyes so all you see is a furry shadow. I keep meaning to ask the big gal upstairs what he's here for.
Me? Well, I'm just a regular cat. Never did much wrong in my nine lives, but that fateful day they invented cars I didn't know what that revving sound was until I was floating over my own body and I was like cat damn I aint go no lives left. Before then, I was a regular here. Now, I'm employed... Ya see, that's how it goes in cat heaven. You get to hang out and figure out which one is for you during those first eight deaths. Then you pick your litter. You start to recognize folks, too. Like that fluffy tabby in the corner. I think she is on death six. She's from some island. But back to this particular sloth like cat that I've never seen before. I'll figure his story out soon enough. I'm just waiting for him to speak. Give away an accent or at least a name. No worries though. The show will go on. It always does. -Me Owt!
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Ubuntu: I am who I am because of who we are. AuthorEsther was born in Utah, raised in Durham (Bull City), North Carolina. Over the last 6 years she has lived in 6 cities, 3 states, and 4 countries. She doesn't like traveling or anything... Archives
June 2017
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