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I don’t like cats. That’s not really true. I like cats, but they don’t like me.
Last week, my friend Sara asked me to babysit her cat for two days while she was out of town. Normally, I would have said no, but she was in a jam, so I said okay.
As I said, cats don’t like me. When I got home from work, I couldn’t find her. I was sure she was hiding from me. I looked all over the house.
I started with the bedrooms, looking in the closets and under the bed. I looked in the bathroom and even behind the shower curtain. I went downstairs and searched the basement. No cat. Next, I looked all over the living room, checking under the couch and behind the TV. I also looked in the pantry and then the laundry room, thinking that the cat must be hiding behind the washer or dryer. Still, no cat.
Finally, I looked in the kitchen. There was the cat. She was sitting on the counter. Somehow she had managed to open a box of cookies and there she sat eating them all. When the cat saw me, she started mewing. I don’t speak the language of cats, but I could have sworn that she was asking me for some milk!
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