Celestyn sat in a trash can, her back paws on the rim, her front paws resting on the garbage. Her muzzle was deep in a sloppy Joe. She felt the trash can wobble, then start to tilt. She yelped, then hopped onto the other side of the rim, balancing on it like a cat. The trash can then tilted that way, and she was to late to move. She tumbled, the trash can landing on her. She gasped for air, her front paws clawing the pavement to get out.









