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369 pages, Hardcover
First published January 27, 2009
"Oh, don't worry, brat," Malcolm whispered. "No, I won't hurt you. ... I know a better way. Rid myself of a growing inconvenience and get a little payback in the bargain."
Malcolm tucked the knife into his pocket and sauntered out, as Jeremy raced in.
What I forgot, though, was that it wasn't me Malcolm wanted to hurt. I was nothing to him. Nothing but a new tool in a campaign he'd been waging for years.
And so I let myself be domesticated. In the end, like any stray, I was conquered by the promise of continued food and shelter. Trust would take longer.
Behind me, the bag tumbled away in the breeze. Tipping it into its side, I thrust my head inside, hoping to find the missing food. There was nothing there...
I pulled back. The bag stuck behind my ears. I shook myself. It stayed on. I tried backing away from it and tripped, tumbling head over ass to the ground. It was then that I heard it. Laughter.
I caught the bag under my paw and yanked my head out. [Jeremy] stood there, arms crossed over his chest, trying to stop himself from laughing and falling miserably. I glared at him, salvaged my last sheds of dignity and stalked off into the woods.
The next day he brought extra food, so I decided, after much contemplation, to forgive him.