Tweedle’s Tell a Tale

…“Great!” Both Tweedles almost collided but instead, they scooped up Alice and sat her down.

“I am bee-ing honest I don’t know how it begins,” said Tweedle Dee.

“I’ll start it then,” said Tweedle Dum.

Their story went something like this…

A cat with a hat stretched out his paw to stroke his most fetching moustache. A human, silly as most are, held silver bowls of chicken and tuna and salmon and I believe one held ocean trout. The cat’s nose twitched and the human said, ‘Here be-ith your food Sir Jenkins.’ The cat purred and sent him away.

When he was done, the cat walked towards the window and took in the view just as two white-winged butterflies fluttered here, there, everywhere. He so much wanted to step out, but he had heard his human say that it was not safe to do so. So he didn’t. Day after day he sat, slept, and pranced about. Not a care in the world. Not a single sense of doubt. Sometimes a mutt would bark, or a ball fell on his land over the backyard fence. Still, the cat couldn’t want for more. His human had him living with plenty, with ornate furniture, a fountain for drinking and a bed -in fact a few too many. Indeed life was pleasurable.

One day his human went out. And said ‘Goodbye Mr Jenkins,’ the cat stared out by the window for today he was done with his eating. His ear flapped as a tap drip, drip, dripped. His tail grew uneasy as a fly zip, zip, zipped. His paws grew restless of scratching a pole, the outside window was a bore and there was nothing new to know. Still, the cat lingered around windows and doors, and when his human came home, it opened a door. With arms full of groceries and none to close it. The cat ran between the human’s legs unsure why he had -but kept going.

He soon reached past concrete and houses and fences and when he had stopped he knew not where his senses. For bluntly he was a house cat and not the outdoors kind. He had reason to believe he had lost his mind. When two strays approached him, he thought them feral and he ran up a tree with a squeak of terror. There in the tree, the feral cats left him to be. His hat had fallen, rain started pourin’ and he wished he was where he was meant to be.

The morning came with more and more rain. His fur was rough, his chest began to huff and even the thunder couldn’t hide the sound of his cries. When Tim had found Mr Jenkins he was in a right awful state. He called for him hoping he wasn’t too late. The cat would know that voice anywhere and up he got. With some burst of energy, he had quite forgot. Down, down, the tree he went and into Tim’s arms, his human, his one true friend.

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