Ugly duckling of the lake,

Shyly timid at first take—

Solo sips o’er shared quaich,

Swims a give instead a take—

Shines, this now, a swanly make

For beauty’s beholden sake. ; )

“Oooh, is that nip for kit???” whimpurred the properly pawstured in a sit.

“Why of course that is the case my fancifully feline friend of ever-cutest face!”

“Last time I had time for play with nice spice, I emitted a bit of a jollop of joy.” demewrely confessed cat a la coy.

“Well, that, Puss In Woots, is sort of the whole point when your rear both on-rounds and in-rolls a joint!” ; )

For scratching feverish fiends,

Tabby has away been cast;

Their antics unamewsing

Fancied not cat agelast.

Last swipes at pawser pauser

Lanced sword words feline and fast.

Now soaking in sunny snooze,

Cat purr-snickers doggone past. ; )

“Listen, I know it is the year of the rat, but please do not tell Santa where I am hiding. First, he had me practicing with the Inuit on a komatik. Then, he had me drag a travois with the Chippewa. Now, it is *his* turn to be tethered—for when my confidant crane lets out her caw, our fawna friends are set to strap him to an overbooked, ramshackle rickshaw!” ; )

In Peter’s land, eleven’s swevens branch into brilliant, spotted advents—ferrried into the sky as flickering fairies for fun.

Over Hook’s look, starlights set sail across each of eve’s picaroon’s moon, tailing dreams’ weaves in spirited pursuits never done nor won. ; )