In Harry’s house there are no cats.
Valve radios, several fridges, a telescope; artwork, craftwork and a state of the art music system yes; satellite TV, close circuit TV and intruder alarms, strip lighting, cosy sofa and a guitar, but no feline friends.
The place is empty; I don’t know how he can live like this.
There is empty space where four legs should be.
And a tail.
There are no tails in Harry’s house.
No paws.
The only whiskers are his.
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