Indeed, Tiggy’s fiery fur contrasted with her newly sugar-coated brrr-der,

But her tasting tassel flickered in sync—a fire-flaught of pink—with each merry blink. ; )

Gigi’s proprioception—a bit askew, possibly due to those crumbs from the you-know-how fond of sharing bread past its date of due—had her bill fumbling a bit, to start, over the scattered seeds, but she eventually cleaned her place—and followed with a return to her nest for sated zees. ; )

“Rats!” exasperated the kitty, who had well-meaningly pawed mum to open the window for a more focused sight of the chirpers and, hence, an easier time into vicarious daydreams of midday mischief.

But, now, the heavens were not fluttering with aves; instead, windy waves had literally uplifted pages of bibliopegy’s progress towards demise amidst the skies.

*Certainly, this fateful fault was souring hopes for an eve of purrs and pets—and would likely be followed by swevens sated with vole-faced vets.*

“Curious,” cogitated cautious clawed-climber, “that windows are not always so much opportunities as much as they are opportunistic.”

“Perhaps, then, future cat-astrophes might be avoided by letting birb-ographies right themselves in a suppressed nest.” mew-sed the malleable now-mouser. ; )

Last laugh and a half is reserved for the humblest-by-happiest quokka,

Whose grumbly tumbly oft complements its genial grin’s, “Wokka, wokka!”

For if scarcity ever comes to play regarding their freshest fetish,

They just hop along in tow, after Sunday’s mow, noshing newest eddish. ; )

Vexillologists may just be too square

To ride a round on a go of merry,

But if their crest is crowned with joyful care,

Flagged by smile, they’ll fly a rising mare-y. ; )