My people seem to think that I love being sung to. They have a song for this and a song for that and speak to me as if I am a child. Well I have news for them, I am a dignified, 5-year-old woman. So when they sing to me those little rhymes, this is what I am really thinking.
I don’t want to be a baby cat,
I don’t like to be a baby cat,
I am surely not your baby cat,
but I can be a killer cat.
meow, meow, meow
meow, meow, mao.
Licky, licky, sticky, sticky, picky, picky…
just put my damn food down so I can eat it.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….oh, you said something?
You want to go for a walk?
Go outside and see the birds?
Tend to the gardens?
No, I just want a fish.
Autumn Siders 