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The creaking of the gatarra’s joints matched that of the screen door. Her small pack of cats was gathered outside, waiting to be fed. They struck up a chorus as she opened the door, but did not enter the old house she lived in. She stepped onto the porch wearing a shapeless hat, old pajama pants, and a long sleeve shirt with holes in the elbows. The cats crowded around the food bowls and ate, oblivious to the old woman’s odor. She stepped back inside without noticing the neighborhood boys watching. They had long given up making fun of her.