Vyl Toh

The Illiterate Cat

The Illiterate Cat “The boy can’t read” tch’d my aunt Polly, watching me throw a ping pong ball at Pickles, my grandfather’s ginger tom. “Probably because he spends all his time playing with that cat.” I had been asked me to read out sympathy cards from faraway well-wishers. I know that people just wanted me to feel included in my grandfather’s funeral. But I stumbled over most of the words and the whole process took too long. Aunt Polly had looked cross the whole time.