Mardi Gras, Mardi Gras, all the wonders and friends from across the country you bring. I am annually stupefied by the illustrious contours of your parades, at least those that I can see from my fourth story windows, and the neon costumes that wear to garner such trophies as plastic baubles that nearly strangle you from their cumulative weight. Apparently these chains hold significant meaning for you. I, on the other hand, wear neither shoes nor mitts, nor a collar. I am a liberated being. Excuse me if my language is presumptuous, I've been reading Anais Nin recently.
Anyway, to the point. Last night I received in my parlor a particularly important guest coming for these festivities: my maman. She occasionally visits, but she has lived away from her darling son (me) for several years. Though, I must say I owe her quite a large amount of gratitude for finding this comfortable home for me before her departure. She reared me from weeks old through my first birthday, from the days of chasing a feather dangling from a stunted plastic fishing pole and eating all things. My tastes have become refined over time, narrowed down to knocking books and pencils off desks (to read and write in later) and licking freshly cut tomato slices. They are quite exquisite.
Maman was friendly and gracious, calling out my name and petting my thick medium hair coat. Her voice hasn't changed one bit. As the night wore on, and the humans continued talking and arguing and on and on, I dozed off a few yards away and barely woke in time to escort my maman downstairs and into the frigid night air. It's not often that we see each, but there is still love there. Our eyes held each other as the door softly shut.
Anyway, to the point. Last night I received in my parlor a particularly important guest coming for these festivities: my maman. She occasionally visits, but she has lived away from her darling son (me) for several years. Though, I must say I owe her quite a large amount of gratitude for finding this comfortable home for me before her departure. She reared me from weeks old through my first birthday, from the days of chasing a feather dangling from a stunted plastic fishing pole and eating all things. My tastes have become refined over time, narrowed down to knocking books and pencils off desks (to read and write in later) and licking freshly cut tomato slices. They are quite exquisite.
Maman was friendly and gracious, calling out my name and petting my thick medium hair coat. Her voice hasn't changed one bit. As the night wore on, and the humans continued talking and arguing and on and on, I dozed off a few yards away and barely woke in time to escort my maman downstairs and into the frigid night air. It's not often that we see each, but there is still love there. Our eyes held each other as the door softly shut.
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