“I do believe that I shall have a meal,” said the cat with the marvelous colorings, “and once I’ve finished – and cleaned my paws just so – I shall have another.
Then, perhaps, I will curl up outside on my small wooden table, next to the stone statue of the girl with the tortoise on her lap, and make myself perfectly round.
I love the in-between times. It’s no longer summer, but not yet fall. How the rodents scurry along the wall! I relish the open doors. My autonomy is dear to me.
After my nap (I suppose it’s rather obvious what sort of nap I will take) I will glance with slanted eyes at the man I keep for a pet. He is sitting in a chair on the porch. One hand strokes his beard while the other hangs low, almost to the wood beams. I rise, pause to lick his fingers as I pass, and go inside, padding my way coolly toward the windowsill.