Seuss

My cat, Seuss, behaved like a jailed convict, seeking any opportunity for escape from my apartment.

Champ was peeing in the girls’ backpacks, and Seuss had started spraying to mark territory.

Seuss was silent, sensing his fate.

Despite her asthma, week upon week, after her return from her dad’s, she would wear Seuss like a fur stole around her neck.

“Then why do you have a cat?” one guy asked, as Seuss sniffed his pant cuff suspiciously.