Destruction of sofas
On a weekend morning, the cries of Dakota’s mother echoed through the house. I rushed to the house to find the leather sofa in the living room in a dismal state of disrepair. The surface was ripped open and even the wooden frame inside was shattered. Luna, the murderer, is standing by the window looking out. Her back is no longer huge, more than that of a medium-sized dog.
Dakota’s father traces the scar and mutters, “Those aren’t cat claws. Dakota’s mother stares anxiously at the splinter of leather on Luna’s paw. Could this really be our cat?
