The neighborhood cats always know when the old man goes fishing. They circle in the driveway, waiting for him to return. One, two, three, four felines. All girls. The toms fight too much to bother with begging. Leave that to the ladies: meowing and purring and rubbing up against his legs while he fillets fish. They crave the parts people throw away. Soon, the man grows too old to fish and sells his boat to a neighbor, but the girls never waver. They circle in his driveway, waiting until he gets home from the local market with a full sack.
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