I looked on with envy as other writers managed to squeeze in animals along with them while I was struggling with the mouse to get my picture right. Ah, I stuggled with a mouse, isn’t that enough? Now, they are being feted here. I understand all the world loves a lover of animals but, being high maintenance, I would certainly walk around like Paris Hilton with a chihuahua on my arms if I were told I’d be inheriting a hotel chain. The possibility of that happening is as remote as finding a penguin in my refrigerator.
Let me try something else to belong to this grrr gang. Remember, I have evolved from the apes. I have Animal Farm in my head. And how do you know I don’t have a bee in my bonnet? Or that a serpent is not coiled around my neck? I really can plead with puppy eyes as well as I can use my cat claws. Perchance, you might notice that an ant had walked through the terrain of my cheeks? Haven’t you complained that I make a mountain of a molehill? Do the bird sounds that come in through my window as I put words to thoughts account for nothing? The pearls of wisdom and tedium that I imagine I sometimes shed have come forth into the world from oysters. What about the moth that playfully fluttered overhead till it hit the lamp and fell dead?
Many such creatures have laid down their lives so that I could continue to write.
I wonder, by my trot, what thou and I
Did till we galloped?*
In case the RR jury is still not convinced, may I venture to add: please do not forget my beastly instincts?
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*With no apologies to John Donne