The sun blazed down in a fire of glory the day that I was born. Birds sang out, pledging the sacrifice of their young to sustain my brilliance. The divine ruler laid the crown of catnip on my brow ordaining my right to rule over my lessers.
The twins are obviously unintelligent. Why would the sink so low as to actually share the sacred spot of the top of the cat tower? It would churn my sensitive stomach, if I wasn’t quite so comfortable on the significantly taller tower gifted to me on the anniversary of the beginning of the world; my birth.
Mommy thinks they’re cute. Mommy thinks they should snuggle more. Mommy likes the fact they are twinsies.