That little bastard really ran off again!

Chapter 10 Hey, hey... grass

Logan Bennett was squatting in a tree, a spot he had painstakingly found and deemed suitable.

About two hundred meters away, there were a few households, two of which still had their lights on, and occasionally, voices could be heard. Most of the area around here was farmland, but under the dim starlight, Logan Bennett could see there weren’t actually many crops in the fields. This area was probably going to be demolished soon.

Changing to a more comfortable position, Logan Bennett lay down with his eyes closed to rest, ears perked up—he couldn’t afford to be careless out here.

The last bit of light went out, and some cat meows came from afar, with the occasional bark from the households.

The temperature in the suburbs was a bit lower than in Chuhua, and the wind made Logan Bennett feel a little cold, the drowsiness he had was gradually blown away by the gusts.

Just as Logan Bennett was wondering if he should find something to do, he heard a sound. Footsteps—very light, but for a cat, it was still distinguishable.

Logan Bennett looked through the leaves in the direction of the footsteps. A person in a loose hoodie, one hand in their pocket (which seemed to be holding something), and the other hand carrying a small shovel, was walking over.

The person had their hood up, so Logan Bennett couldn’t see their face or tell if they were male or female. But at this hour, anyone daring to come out alone was probably a man, right? Judging by the look of it... could they be here to kill someone and bury the body?

Logan Bennett's curiosity was instantly piqued, but he didn’t dare to follow recklessly. Even as a cat, you never know if you might get silenced.

The direction the person was heading in was full of dilapidated tile houses, which probably hadn’t been lived in for a while, with weeds everywhere.

Seeing the person stop in front of a half-collapsed little tile house, Logan Bennett decided to just stay here and watch the show. After all, it wasn’t too far away.

The person squatted down at a corner of the wall, back facing Logan Bennett, doing something unknown. Logan Bennett didn’t hear the sound of bricks being struck, but there was a faint clinking of glassware.

It wasn’t until dawn was just breaking that the person finally left the ruined house. Logan Bennett jumped down to take a look, but didn’t dare get too close, because he smelled a foul odor, like pesticides.

Logan Bennett was curious, but valued his life more—even a cat’s life was still his own.

Taking advantage of the fact that the residents hadn’t gotten up yet, Logan Bennett slipped into someone’s yard, found a faucet, and washed his paws to avoid bringing pesticide-laden mud from the ruined house. The water was too cold, and there were no tissues to wipe with. Logan Bennett didn’t want to lick himself clean, so he looked around, eyed the clothes hanging outside, and wiped his paws on the best-quality long skirt, leaving a string of gray paw prints. After cleaning his paws, Logan Bennett casually scratched a persimmon off the tree in the yard, washed it, and carried it away.

A few barks came from next door, probably because Logan Bennett's movements had alerted the dog over there. The bark sounded rather young, likely an immature puppy.

By the time Logan Bennett returned to the tree, the sky was much brighter.

Not long after, voices came from the residents’ side—cursing, because of the skirt Logan Bennett had used to wipe his paws.

As the sun rose, the temperature gradually warmed up.

Logan Bennett basked in the warmth of the sunlight, yawned, stretched lazily, tore open a bag of thumb biscuits, and started on breakfast. If it was too dry, he’d nibble on the persimmon.

A small brown-gray mutt ran out of the house, frolicking in the fields. This must have been the young-sounding dog from earlier.

A few hens pecked around in the untended fields. The little mutt ran over, chasing the hens and making them cluck in alarm. One particularly plump hen just squatted down and stayed still when the puppy charged at it, and after a brief pause, the puppy gave it a couple of symbolic nips—probably not even touching the skin—then continued chasing the other hens, running and chasing, chasing and running.

Every time the fat hen saw the puppy coming, it would just squat down and stay still, always managing to avoid being chased around.

Sure enough, big fatties have their own kind of wisdom.

After tiring itself out chasing chickens, the little mutt jogged along the edge of the field with its tongue hanging out. Suddenly, its ears twitched, and it stopped to look around, glancing toward Logan Bennett, then dashed over in this direction.

Logan Bennett bit into his thumb biscuit with a crunch, watching the little mutt circling the tree and barking below. He tossed down a piece of biscuit, now only the size of a fingernail. The little mutt paused, then went over, nose pressed to the ground, sniffing around until it found the biscuit in the grass, rolled its tongue, and ate it.

After eating, the little mutt looked up at Logan Bennett munching on biscuits in the tree, its little tail wagging happily.

Each time, Logan Bennett would crunch a thumb biscuit down to the last little bit before tossing it, then watch the little mutt wag its tail searching in the grass, or sometimes half-standing up to catch the biscuit in midair.

Logan Bennett was having so much fun that before he knew it, the bag of thumb biscuits was almost empty. Just as he was about to sigh, he suddenly heard the sound of a lighter flicking nearby.

Logan Bennett was startled—when did someone get so close?!