It’s been a difficult day on the range. Always is, cat-wrangling. The critters sleep a lot, but they spring up out of sleep ready for action at the smallest sound. Sometimes, the first you know of this is fightin’ yowls. Then the fur’s flyin’. Both combatants are spittin’ mad, but you don’t know why. Cats and their slights are mysterious matters. Segregation leads to peace, but not forgiveness, and that separate but equal stuff doesn’t work for cats no more than it works for anything else.
I’m out of there, though, at the coffee shop with my brew. Characters are barking at me about what they wanna do, and where they’re gonna go. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.