But today there are no thoughts. Oh, there are thoughts. A multitude of them. One more horrid than the other. But they are not allowed into the shelte... of my brain. They must stay outside. Let them huddle under that carport over there. Or at the bus stop. Get lost, you damn thoughts and nightmares.Leave me to the dark little kingdom of my misery.My name doesn't matter. Call me George. Call her Anne. Or call her a slut, if you like. Call me a clown. I don't care.What she did doesn't need much. As I paused in front of the table trying to decide on my indulgence, a cat introduced herself and began a conversation, was this my first time? How did I find out? As she spoke, she drifted in and out of her character, a common trait in these parts it seemed.It could have been a conversation at any cocktail party I had ever been to. But there was one big difference: I was flirting with her and she was flirting back.Cat picked up a chocolate and held it up as if to offer it to me. And then all. More

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