Hanging Out With Cats: Hangout 13

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Photo: Boripat

The temperature was rather cool this morning due to the consecutive days of inclement weather, whereby the opaque heavens above shielded most of the sun’s caring warmth from exciting the atoms in this part of our glorious province. Thus, Duchess, the most fabulous cat in the commune, which was becoming increasingly affluent, evident by the recent purchase of a Maserati a few abodes down the street, wore her electric blue cashmere sweater for the chilly occasion. The hue matched her wondrous, aquamarine eyes beautifully. However, still feeling the crisp air, yet not in the mood to be wrapped in heavy layers, for that would compromise her agility, but more importantly, hide her voluptuous figure, she therefore set forth in search for a place to snuggle in. Looking into every nook and cranny of her residence, a modern Petit Trianon, as large as it was elegant, and worthy of belonging to a Peeress of France, she found many spots where she could lay in aristocratic languor, but none however, felt perfectly right. Upon entering the kitchen, she spotted an empty box on the table. Not sure what overcame her senses, for she did not have a history of capriciousness, she was suddenly struck with the oddest of ideas, and, somewhat compulsively, against her better judgement to be sure, put the thought into action. A few huffs and puffs later she found herself centered squarely in the box, and felt, strange to say, very comfortable in it. In fact, the silliness of her situation instead of being a cause for blushful embarrassment, actually put her in a very good humor. “Every aristo-cat,” thought Duchess, smilingly, “should have fun once in a while.”