It started with rustling in the bushes. Every morning for a week, the leaves near the back of the garden would tremble gently at dawn. Then, like clockwork, the family would spot the sloth.
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It would appear slowly, carefully, always coming to the same spot near the back door. At first, they thought it was just wandering through.
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But it never left. It stayed still. Watching. As if waiting for someone to notice.