These are two stories I had started to write many years ago. This is the sort of writing I had wanted to do when I moved here. It is the sort of writing I want to do with my cat stories that I have tried to work on and develop.
How do I get to have my life back where other people’s wants for my life – leave?
There once was a mouse
with velveteen fur, and whiskers and toes of white.
He was grey from his ears
right down to his tail
and his belly was full
from the treats he had stole.
His toes would curl
with the sound of a girl
who would giggle with glee at his sight.
She would hold and caress him
but never address him
as a feline, a cat, or a kitten.
He was far too mature
to care or be cured
of knowing that he was a mouse.
“Mouse,” she would say.
“Where have you been today? In the field over the way? Or down by the stream?
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There once was a mouse
who lived in a house
who loved to play with lizards.
He would frolic and play
then sleep all the day.
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 