Pink roses are nice smelling and pink in colour.  I think if a cat could take flowers, that a cat would not enjoy roses as much as a swan would.  A cat would enjoy a Begonia, or a yellow daisy.  If I was a cat, I’d most enjoy to lie in the middle of a laundry pile in the sun.  Strawberries might be an okay fruit for cats, but I’d rather see them sitting with giant apricots, and pitted cherries.  Strawberries are more of a Lemur fruit.

Chocolate chunks are best seen on white plates, slightly shaved on a corner but mostly in block form, with a cup of coca next to it, only you can’t see any of the hot cocoa because it’s topped with thick whipped cream and some of the lighter chocolate shavings.  There’s no fire, just a sense of it.

The cat can come back at this point – lounging, perhaps in the distance.  With a wild grin on his face, whiskers groomed, legs splayed wide, white hair awash on the persian rug.

He’s got a tail like a jabbing sword.  All the other cats know him for the black eyes and wounded knees he causes from whipping about; the cat just keeps his tail straight and rigid as he ninjas along with the others, scoping scores out of bonus dumpsters.  The biggest treat is a cured salmon stick, tossed from lack of taste, but this is no regular fish and he knows it, which is why he doesn’t brag to the other cats about finding it.  Instead, he tucks it into his fur and prances lightly along the wire fences back to safety on the roof of the greenhouse garden centre, where he can look down through the glass panels and see the tops of roses lifting up to find their sun.


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