Scarred and Squishy

Libby and Sarah took turns pushing in my nose, delighted that their baby sister had ‘no bone in her nose’. But our cat Tigger was less fond of me. To him, I was prey. He’d hide beneath one of the kitchen chairs and pounce as I passed by. After his most successful attack, my face was scratched diagonally from my forehead to chin. In the hall mirror, I saw the blood streaked across my face as my mother tried to shield my eyes. My nose is still scarred. Between the scar and it’s squishiness, I’m quite fond of my nose.