Sunday, 2 September 2018


by Roppotucha Greenberg

Mostly human, he patters about the classroom like a stink bomb, prickling his ears. Nobody cares about the cat smell; all eyes are on me. He tells them my private stuff, and they laugh. He’s never violent, just gives me an occasional scratch or drops nasties in my bag.

I get home dizzy from misery and boredom; he’s the first thing I see, now fully cat, sitting on a dumpster. He stares at me, and it’s like being dipped in garbage.

My aunt adores him. As I root in the fridge, she scolds me for spilling his saucer of milk.

Author bio: Roppotucha Greenberg writes speculative fiction.
Micro-fiction: @Roppotucha

Fluffy is part of 101 Fiction issue 20.

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