Going Broody

Goat woke up. Thirsty, Sweating. And listened to the mice or rats or squirrels scurrying around in the attic. He stared at the ceiling, trying to decide what kind of creatures lived above him.

He hoped it wasn’t raccoons.

Their noise stopped as he walked down the creaking hall to the kitchen. A glass of water.

The pipes must’ve froze again. Goat looked out the front window. Dull orange light reflecting off the snow. He found a mouthful of orange juice in the fridge.

The animals in the attic started up again. Their scratching and scampering lulling him to sleep.


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