Fear And Loathing Near A Scratching Post
2nd place in Derby #179 When Toys Attack , with 591 votes!
After Las Vegas it was all kicking in. I came this way because I knew about the dream.
I saw it once in San Francisco, took me by surprise. A big pile of happy kittens, snuggling together, pouncing, all staring hopefully at the golden butterfly just out of reach. Just out of reach, but not so far. We were all reaching for it that day, kicking the sky, making biscuits, those little cluck-cluck noises in the backs of our throats, sometimes grooming each other politely. Time wasn’t what we thought it was, and it was forever, and we were there because there was where we were, and those blue mice could never stop what was happening, and we were going to take it to them, rather than letting them give it to us, and it was all going to change, like ice becoming steam. We knew, we really know, and if we waited just a little longer, they’d know too, and then it would all be okay. And the breeze would start blowing of its own accord, and we’d all look up, and that butterfly would be gold and shining, and we’d smile at it, and hold out a paw, and it would land.
When I took off for Vegas it was like I was chasing something nobody else could see. It was so clear to me then, I think it was even clear to them, too. But now, right in the middle of busy salesmen and hedonists and the hungry quilted mice, all of whom wanted their own little bite of me, that butterfly seemed like it must have been eight lives distant. And that dream, whatever it was, it sure didn’t last through morning.
Wear this shirt: if you’re Lindsay Lohan. C’mon, it would make all the papers and we’d get some sales out of it. LiLo, we’ve got a little advertising budget now, so let’s talk, okay?
Don’t wear this shirt: to rehab.
This shirt tells the world: “Go ask Dinah, I think she’ll know.”
We call this color: Baby Blue
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