The cat’s out of the bag

Woken at 7 o’ clock by piteous wailing in the road outside. Looked out to see neighbour from a few doors up holding shopping bag in her arms. I will translate the conversation.
“My God! My God! She will die. Oh my angel- my little flea.”
A cat’s head appeared from the bag and said something similar but in the first person. (Ok I’m a grammar geek writer).
I went out.
“My pussy will die. Oh Emma- Madame I pray to you. Take me now and I will fill you up I promise.”
The neighbour lit a Gauloises, sliding into the car seat beside me. Obviously the cat was a passive smoker.
“I know the place – it is in Rochefort – I will fill you up”
We set off. Even through the smoke I felt kinda important. I was a romantic novelist on a real heroic mission at last.
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