The Meowmorphosis
“It was late evening when Gregor landed. The city lay deep in snow. There was nothing to be seen of his old apartments, for mist and darkness surrounded them, and not the faintest glimmer of light showed where the great building stood. Gregor stood on the road leading back to his house for a long time, looking up at what seemed to be a void. The stones of the street pressed painfully against his paws, nothing at all like the plush carpet of his former apartments, and though the rush of traffic a...ssailed his sensitive ears from the roadway beyond the alley, these discomforts were ameliorated by the wonderful smells of old food and scraps of fish that littered the frozen ground, no doubt tossed out from some high window by a soul not weighed down by such predicaments as Gregor currently faced.
Gregor began to investigate the possibilities of the rubbish heaps, amazed at the delicacy of his nose, its ability to discern haddock from cod, its unerring sense of what had gone to rot and what remained good for a cat’s stomach—which indeed he already knew would tolerate much a man’s would not—and its cheerful performance of many operations at once, not only snuffling out fish but ascertaining what other creatures had visited the alley before him, what sorts of moods they had been in, and whether or not he could expect rain later this evening.MoreLess
Gregor began to investigate the possibilities of the rubbish heaps, amazed at the delicacy of his nose, its ability to discern haddock from cod, its unerring sense of what had gone to rot and what remained good for a cat’s stomach—which indeed he already knew would tolerate much a man’s would not—and its cheerful performance of many operations at once, not only snuffling out fish but ascertaining what other creatures had visited the alley before him, what sorts of moods they had been in, and whether or not he could expect rain later this evening.MoreLess
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