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I say I fucking hate cats, then I think sit and ponder intently; my abrasion towards them is not enough to ever harm a cat. I think it's a cope because I remember seeing occasional bodies of dead cars around the yard. I was once removing the needles from the nopals when one moseyed down to the brick wall and plopped from exhaustion. The orange cat was a stray as it suffered from cataracts. I named him after the cactus and knife, Navajo Nopa. The next day I saw Nopa dead besides the shade of the key-lime tree.
