Catmandu

“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.

 

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