What To Do If Your Unborn Babys Father Is Mean

The cat and mouse

There was a mouse, it was gray smoke.
There was a cat, agile and red.
There was a seaport, it was crowded. The mouse
dark and the dark street.
The cat nibbling salmon pate.
well-dressed woman walking on the pier, down from bare boats to luxury. Designer sarongs on the narrow side, low waist. A node. Ankles and feet in order.
The mouse does not try anything. Crowds, noise and lights annoy.
There was the cat, red brick, with his hair a healthy shine.
A woman crouches, he sandals in hand, looking for something on the asphalt. She dropped an earring valued. But it is not gold. The mouse
at night in the harbor, is home. That there are males or females around, he slams.
And the cat. Which must have a master. But he's on his own.
She seems blind to how he uses his hands well. Scours the asphalt millimeter by millimeter by millimeter, it sifts through his fingers. Find the earring. Takes a breath. He gets up, thin, pushing down on his knees, and puts it in the hole with a precise gesture, one that you know by heart.

Blind.
In the dark the mice did not hurry. He calmly.
The cat is the woman's thigh. He rubs. One step forward, bare feet and ankles of a good man. Man looks at the lobe of his female, with satisfaction, as if he had mixed his own, with the clay. She smiles. The mouse
strip swollen. The cat
slipping fast.
The woman holding the lobe, as if he might lose it seriously this time. The ear, not the jewel. He kisses her. The move your hand.
There was the rat, and this darkness.

The cat, who had never smelled a rat.
is a beautiful woman.