He sat there quietly most days. No meow, no purr, no scratch came out of the box. He found his calm space among the plants in the living room.
Sometimes he would play under a palm tree, juggling green gum ball as if it were a mouse. It was his only dream vacation. Or hunting for feather butterflies or dragonflies due to the lack of real ones.
Sometimes imitation of life is all we can have.
About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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