“Hullo and thanks, pretty lady, for the friendly pets.”

“You are like the smilest human I have ever mets.”

“If a stray would just make your day and I can stay, let’s.”

“Meow, please accept optative purrs for snuggle-time sets.” ; )

Welcome to the manor, where we do not merely engage in chores and play, but, we—in order to remain a mob no one is able to rob—, as well, pray—for our head scout watched the neighbours’ pharisaism fail and, so, we decided that faith would be our tails’ tale. ; )

Swooping whence avian aristocracy’s alcazar ascends, swiftest knights of the proud label scout their realm; an order defends. ; )

While Sunday’s bad boys doggedly debate merits of team’s squib kick, sunny day’s good boys snifff-ixate time’s most prime petals they will lick. ; )

Both placated penguins and garrulous gulls march for fish of the bucket dish—and while biodiversity favours the bold where neurodiversity tips for the nuanced, in the eventual end, all that matters is that ratio of bill to krill sates the will of each avian friend. ; )