Now grown, Max curled up expecting to be petted, quite content with it’s own place in the world. Max did not care that she was broke, alone. ‘Why ...ouldn’t I have been born a Cat?’ Millie thought to herself. They have it made, food always there whenever it wanted, someone to pet it and make it feel good, a warm corner on the soft bed? Tomorrow. She would go try and find another job tomorrow. Tilting the badly worn easy chair back, she slept right there in her tiny living room. +++ When her Mom. She had been hustled. Every shot from the beginning of the first game had been a set up to bring her to this point. There was one possible escape, however. If she applied the right English, she might be able to get through at the rail and complete a safety on the 8. She called it and carefully lined it up, but the gap wasn’t quite wide enough and one of Jaqui’s balls rolled toward the middle of the table. It was a scratch on the 8 ball. Game over. 264 swats, plus a weekend of. More

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