will come tomorrow to pick up the toy, he will pay for my broken window, said the artist aloud. He dropped the thing on the table. He put out the candle and mumbling something, went to sleep. A hysterical shriek of his frightened cat who like a flash, scampered under the bed awoke the artist. Eyes closed, he mumbled to the wall, “Cobalt, you silly cat, what’s with you…?” 
A high-pitched voice interrupted him, “Hey, who goes there?”
Annoyed, the artist replied, his voice filled with sleep. “Cobalt, its a wrong time for talking… save it for the morning!”
Once again, the voice returned, 
“My name is not Cobalt, its Booba!” 
At that instant the artist realized, with terror, that his cat could not speak. He turned around, opened his eyes and fell of his bed. On the table, the moonlight revealed a shiny, walking metal parrot. It looked at the artist and said,
“Yo! It was a blow, it knocked me down, man… where am I?”

 © Midnight guest


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