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Personal Narrative : The Kitten In The Woods

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The kitten is a scrawny thing with burrs and bits of wood caught in its coat where it still has fur, and pus coming out its eyes and nose. Its big baby head looks even bigger at the end of such a stick of a body. I found it in the woods at the end of my street where I play most days with my friends. This time I was alone. Lucky for you I was, I think. Otherwise, David or Claude might have decided you’d be good practice for their slingshots. Those two can be mean, I think to myself. I don’t like playing with them really, but they live at the end of the street and sometimes you just play with the kids on your same street, even if they’re mean, sometimes, even to you. The kitten makes a pitiful noise. “Don’t worry,” I tell it, stroking its scabby head until the mewing is replaced by a faint purr. “Everything will be okay. I’m going to take you home, and my mom will give you a bath and some medicine.” I tuck the kitten under my jacket and run out of the woods, across the street, down the sidewalk toward my house. I feel the warmth of the kitten through my shirt and start thinking of names. I’m only ten, so it will be five or six years before I work for Dr. Milk. My two oldest brothers worked for him part-time and summers when they were teenagers. Now my other brother, Paul, works there. Dr. Milk is the vet out on Ridge Road. He takes care of our dogs, and he will take care of my kitten. I never had a pet that was my very own. A couple of years ago, my father got a new beagle to

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