Sometimes she dreamed that she was the one doing the chasing.
But mostly she dreamed that she was the one being chased.
The one constant was that she woke up exhausted, her days filled with exaggerated stretches and impossibly wide yawns. She hid the exhaustion well, but she could feel her days merging into poor imitations of each other. If anyone had asked her what she did yesterday she wouldn’t have known what to say.
So she slept, dreaming in chases, feeling watched.
They stood over her, watching her twitching paws. “Aww look, she’s dreaming!”
“She must be chasing something.”
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