The Unpredictability of Plastic Bags

Sometime in the middle of the night "cat X" curled up behind my knees. It was too dark to see which one it was. Early next morning "cat X" suddenly bit my hand. Sauntered out the bedroom door. It was the little black and white one-the unpredictable one. The stray we'd rescued years before. At the edge of a windblown field. Curled tight in a plastic bag- barely breathing. Looking down at my bitten hand. So pale, and wrinkled. Unpredictable, like a plastic bag at the edge of a windblown field.