It was past 7:30 PM when I got home. Alabaster poked her beak through the wire and snatched a sardine. At the last minute, she moved a fraction of an inch, cutting me. A pearl of blood appeared on my pointer finger, but the cut immediately healed.
“Oh, Alabaster, why the ‘tude, huh?” I asked with a gentle tone. But she was immune to my charm, which wasn’t saying much these days. She looked at me with a cold stare, as if to say, “Get me outta this joint.”
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