Curled cutie’s cloud-built catnap cogitates comforting curiosities. ; )

Prostrated purrfectly fine amid the posies, Pat The Cat’s contentment is patent—as long as only he holds the helm of relished realm. ; )

Poseidon’s prescription for the sailor feeling that their sides

Are turning due to Oceania’s aquarium’s tides:

Guardian angelfish—naupathia’s ace antidote-ide. ; )

Achilles would most certainly agree that baptising the heel should not turn a deal twixt opting for ocean’s splashy spiel or an elegant pour from an aquamanile. ; )

Seamus, ever hungry as a horse, was the lea’s grazer elite, but after weeks of alternating pours and shines, the green’s sheen was, perhaps, a bit *too* palatable—as Monday morning’s lively lamb sheepishly lumbered into the paddock that evening a whole, damn ham of a ram, having, believe it or not, ate the *entire* bovate. ; )