We - Buy Cats

The man smiled, a slow, thin expression. "No, madam. For their stories. You see, a cat is a living record of every secret told in a kitchen at midnight. They are the only creatures that witness the things we think no one sees."

Mrs. Gable went home and looked at her oldest cat, Barnaby. She thought of all the nights she’d cried into his fur after her husband passed. She thought of the secrets she’d muttered while pacing the floor. She never went back to the shop. Neither did anyone else. we buy cats

Behind a high mahogany counter sat a man who looked like he was made of lint—grey suit, grey hair, and a soft, static-filled voice. The man smiled, a slow, thin expression

"You buy cats?" Mrs. Gable demanded, clutching her handbag. "For what? Research? Fur?" You see, a cat is a living record