A story about... An Animal c. 1999/2000 Dan Biemer, Damon Diehl, Rachel Rosenberg, Jack Welch	DAN	DAMON	RACHEL & JACK
				JACK & RACHEL
			RACHEL	DAMON & JACK
				JACK & DAMON
			JACK	DAMON & RACHEL
				RACHEL & DAMON

History would record this glorious day as one of the greatest in the history of all dust-kind. When Pouncer looked around, she saw dust everywhere. Dust to the left of her. Dust to the right of her. Into the valley of death, Pouncer had nimbly leaped. The dustballs were colossal. Even her mother had not seen dustballs of this size. And within them were discernible objects. Paper clips, with sharp ends bent out. Coins. Large pieces of string. First, several dustballs rushed Pouncer at once, invading her nasal cavity. Chocking her. Then, several of the best-drilled dust balls leapt up behind her and wrapped a long pieces of string around her neck and then around and around her body. The more Pouncer struggled, the tighter the noose became, until, at last, she strangled herself to death. News of the most magnificent dustball victory of all time traveled through the land. Bards sang of it (as other bards played combs wrapped in wax paper as an accompaniment). The battle became legendary. It is from this event that the commonplace expression "enough dust to choke a cat" derived. 

The cat rotted on the ground. Maggots ate away the soft tissues, and bacteria digested what remained. The fur melted away that summer, blowing like dandelion fronds in the wind. Birds tugged at the sinews and flies buzzed over the rotting carcass. Some of them were eaten by the birds too. The border between the soft earth and the cat became less and less distinct as worms crawled under its skin and transformed the cat into loam. All that remained by fall was the skeleton, and that was half buried in moldy leaves and mud. Snow came and went, the bones soaked up water, froze and cracked. They ground against each other and the wind whistled through them. By spring, the cat was a small mound, hard to tell from all of the other small mounds in the back yard. Millennia went by, the Earth remolded itself. The sky brightened and thunder fell. He became carbon and glass. He cooled and cracked, was subsumed by the mantle, subjected to pressure and blended with minerals. The sun reached out red and senile, he vaporized. Coated in ice, he traveled through space for eons. The cosmic ebb receded and he fell backward, more and more towards the center. The universe flipped inside out.

He found himself floating downward, through the thicker and thicker breeze. Down towards the ground, towards a house, towards a window. Glimmering in the sunlight, what was left of Pouncer floated in the breeze, twisting and turning, unable to direct himself, but pleased to exist.