It’s a cat’s life

Sometimes I want to be a cat. Doesn’t it just seem like the perfect life?

I could spend my days strolling around, exploring the webs of roads and paths that spreads over my town, connecting my kingdom. I would find fences to sit on and trees to get stuck in. I could hunt mice and birds and lizards, and bring my trophies back home to my owner, for him to worship me, his one and only goddess.

Then, at night, we could all sit on the couch with the TV running in the background, and I could assert my dominance over that pathetic dog by snatching all the back rubs. And, maybe later, I could chase around that mysterious red dot again, listening to my humans cheer me on with their laughter.


I would be a queen with incredibly soft paws, with a coat smoother than silk, blacker than the night sky, and eyes as striking as the stars in it.

I daydream about that from time to time, an obviously irrational dream, but man, how great would it be to be a cat!

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