Repeated forays into the land of the absurd

(AKA Cara's Week)

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The cat was green.

She blinked, as though doing so would in some way change what she was seeing. However, the cat merely looked at her through slitted eyes before turning back to the business of grooming itself. It also persisted in being green.

Cara sighed and dropped her head to the desk. Her history book, while unusually pedantic, nevertheless made an excellent pillow. She shut her eyes and counted to ten.

She looked up.

The cat was still green.

"No, you see, you're not supposed to be green," she told the cat. "Cats are not green. They are brown, maybe, or black or white or tan, or even orange," she continued, "but they are most definitely not green." Having said this, she waited patiently for the cat to give in and assume some more acceptable hue.

For a moment, it did not.

After some time had passed, and the animal had continued to remain that unlikely shade of green, Cara decided to reason with it.

"Look," she told the cat, in a mild and patient tone of voice, "you are a cat, right?" When the creature made no reply, she went on. "And cats are not green, right?" This time she did not wait for its answer. "You see? It's completely logical. You are a cat. Cats are not green. Therefore... are you listening?" Cara sighed and put her hands over her eyes. "Of course not. Cats don't speak English."

She tapped her pencil against the window. "Señor Gato, ¿hablas español? Naw, I guess not," she answered herself. "You don't look like a Spanish kitty." She shrugged. "Look, cat, I don't have time to deal with you, so either stop being green or get off my windowsill, okay?" She knocked the pencil against the glass again for good measure.

With an expression of hurt on its odd little face, the cat turned and fled from the sill.

"That's better."

Cara went back to her homework.

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