A cat was sitting in the sun.
The sun pooled its morning gold onto the cobblestones of the quiet alley, and there, at the heart of this molten coin, a cat lounged. Its fur, a tapestry of cream and cinnamon, seemed to soak in the light, each strand shimmering with lazy contentment. The cat's eyes, slits of emerald pleasure, watched the world through half-closed veils of indifference.
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