The cat looked at the king-sized bed and said, ‘Thanks for thinking of me...you can have the throne. I’m worn out with the hardness of it, and the public passing and passing as if I wasn’t there. Now here’s a place for important thoughts...leave me while I wash. I feel a curl deep in the bones of me – it’s a royal pain if I ignore it.’
If I had a cat I know it would talk just like that. Oh but the life of a cat is so superior to that of any royal, and considering the lack of stress and pressure; he/she can lick and lick at body parts whether camera-toting dolts are zooming in or not. So let the cat wear purple and fart on the throne or bed – no one’s being murdered.
The land of Nod, a field of cream calls, its quiet quilting pulls me down, so I can fly, find the curl deep in my bones, sleep all day long.
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