Once there was a cute little kitten. It was orange and gray and white, and was deathly afraid of any loud noises. We’ll call this kitten “Puxa” (pronounced poo-sha). She was a content cat – she would run around and chase her tail. She would meow piteously at the drop of a hat. She once opened a door all by herself. Yes, Puxa was a very special cat.
Yesterday cute little Puxa, who was very curious, was exploring the house she lived in. After many hours of exploring, she was quite exhausted, so she curled up in the nice pile of dirty laundry. Puxa was not the most intelligent cat, however, and had fallen asleep in the washing machine – a fact which she discovered when she was rudely awakened by the spin cycle.
The washing machine experience was not a good one for Puxa. In fact, it was almost a case of the old adage “Curiosity killed the cat.” But Puxa pulled through. She was injured, had a few broken tail bones, was pitiful and bedraggled, but very grateful when pulled out of the machine.
I took great care of Puxa that night. I tended her wounds, and petted and cuddled her and kept her warm. I splinted the broken bones, and was pleased with my work. The following morning I woke up early to take Puxa to the vet to look at her injuries. As we were crossing the street, Puxa was startled by a loud noise, jumped out of the box she was in, bolted across the road, and was run over by a bus. Puxa pancake. It made me quite sad.