Tales from Taipei: A Pussy Story

Pussy was confused.

Right from under the piles of unrewarding rubbish that she was rummaging through, she was certain she had heard the call for her, and had immediately crossed the road to the rows of dining tables arranged along the walkway of the busy Xi Men Ding shopping district, and in the midst of her enthusiasm, nearly got run over by a flashy beamer on the way to hell.

But now, while she looked up intently to the source of the call just a few seconds ago, she was merely staring into rejection and disappointment. Her growling stomach signaled her to meow for attention and assurance that she had not heard wrong, yet only the faintest squeal broke through, drowned now in a fresh burst of laughter triggered by perhaps a joke told, not just by anyone, but by the one diner who had fished her out from the rubbish dump.

Before her extended presence attracted spurts of water or shoos from the rest of the crowd, she would need to leave the table and head back across the road again.

But she kept her ears propped up helplessly, for she would ran across again as soon she was called.

Never mind the rejection.