So, Scratches moved in, and I was 
glad she did.                          
     I loved how, as soon as I got home
from work, and as soon as I sat down,  
she’d jump into my lap. I’d then give  
her the scratching of her life. Some-  
times she’d purr so loud, I almost     
couldn’t hear what they were saying on 
the TV.                                
     The rest of the night, we’d play a
game of hide and seek, that she’d      
always win. After that, she’d fall     
asleep on the couch and wait for me to 
go to bed.  When I did,  she’d climb in
and sleep with me. That was nice.      
     As she grew into a mischievous    
and very beautiful adult cat, I took   
pictures and showed them to everyone at
work.                                  
     I was so proud of her.            
*      That surprised everyone there.      
     Philippe, the other dishwasher,   
thought I was just some zombie guy who 
decided to show up one day and start   
cleaning dishes.                       
     “I didn’t even know you had a     
life,” he told me, after I showed him  
pictures of Scratches.                 
     I even stopped fantasizing as much
as I used to, because Scratches was    
always making me laugh, and that helped
take my mind off it for longer periods.
     I guess that part of my mind,     
where my fantasies were coming from,   
didn’t like to be neglected like that, 
because six months later, while watch- 
ing a TV show, I saw a car crash and   
snapped.                               
     I went into a rage so evil and so 
dark, that when I saw Scratches sleep- 
ing on the couch, waiting for me to go 
to bed, my fantasies took over.        



CHAPTER 1: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 15th
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