A Downpour of Black Cats

I was sitting in a café this morning reading a book that threatened the more rational sides of my brain. I resisted the pull, focused on the fresh smell of white paint that emanated from the walls. I sipped my green tea, scratched my nose and fell away into the illusory reality of the book. Before I knew it I hear a visceral sounding “splat.” I lifted my head from the book and noticed that black cats where raining down from the ceiling. Two minutes before it had been s quiet freshly painted white ceiling sky but now the color had turned black, colored by a deluge of falling cats. As I stretched out my tired arms to protect my head, I realized it was a black cat downpour. Aging women dressed in the finest of clothes (that put them further into debt) began to be covered in black cats. Cats hit costumers in the head and covered the hardwood floor. It was a fierce downpour because within minutes everyone’s feet were covered in cats. Women screamed, cats meowed and men looked perplexed by what was going on. Employees fled through a stream of black cats into a back room. It was chaos but I felt surprisingly undisturbed. As quickly as the downpour began, it ended. I lifted my head, which was planted in my book, and looked around the room. Everything was back to normal. Nicely dressed women sipping their cappuccinos, freshly painted white walls, glossy hardwood floors and the smell of fresh pastries in the oven. I was perplexed. Even more so when I took a sip of my green tea and noticed a single black hair floating in it.

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