Welcome to a new superhero story about cats being superheroes!
Mainly depressive style of complaining about Xiang Shuangwen!
Note: Some set timelines are not rigorous and cannot be referenced.
Continuously updated every night, comments are welcome! Love ya!
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The smell of disinfectant still clung to my hair. I stood at the door of the mental hospital and counted my shadow. The medical records in his left hand were clenched into dried pickles, and the pills in the plastic bag in his right hand were clinking. The diagnosis of severe depression was like a soldering iron, making my knuckles red.
Living is too troublesome. Especially when the doctor told me to "take two pills three times a day, after meals" - I didn't even bother to open the takeout software, but now I have to calculate the ratio of rice pills and medicine pills? It's like asking a drowning person to wring out their own clothes and fold them into standard tofu cubes.
But God always leaves a dog hole when he closes the window.
When I found the bottle of sleeping pills on the bedside table, I suddenly felt relieved.
What a perfect solution: a forty-eight-hour dose in exchange for eternal sleep.
Now please call me a performance artist. There is no admission fee for this death show.
Then I woke up.
To be precise, he was awakened by his tail.
The world in front of me suddenly rose thirty centimeters higher, and the smell of disinfectant water turned into the fishy smell of a trash can. I stared at my furry claws, and a ridiculous truth gradually emerged:
First, expired sleeping pills will cause species mutation;
Secondly, it really hurts to step on the asphalt pavement;
Thirdly, I urgently need a translator - after all, meowing at an old lady passing by will only get you a sausage instead of calling the police on your phone.
Concept: If the world hates you, there is still your cat on the second floor who loves you.
