Lifestyles
"I don't like cats," Simon said. "They're dirty."
"They're not dirty," I said, defending Blinky and all of catkind. "They wash themselves all the time."
"They wash themselves with their tongue," he said and made a face like he was grossed out. "But if you love cats, then this is the place to be. There are dozens and dozens of them here. I'll show you."
My desire to get out of the junkyard wasn't as strong as my curiosity. Why would there be dozens of cats here?
"I can't get inspiration on a stupid farm! I can't believe you're doing this to me!"
"I don't know," Peggy said. She pointed to a spot where a section of sandbags had fallen over and left a gap. "Those sandbags don't look like they could stop much."
She glanced up at the sun, which was getting lower in the sky.
"I've got to get home to help with milking," she said.
"Me too," said Tom. There was never a holiday from milking.
Reluctantly, Tom turned away from the widening brown river. If there were a flood, what would the Lone Ranger do?
