Metamorphosis. 

Cats, Dreams, Happiness, Insanity, MS, Why aren't I Patti Smith?

Dearest reader. Hey! Down here. I’ve transmogrified into a field mouse, you see. I’m typing this by daintily pirouetting across the keyboard. All is good. Although I’m wary of the beloved cat and his inbuilt and entirely natural intentions toward his now rodenty mistress. But apart from that tiniest of concerns, all is well! It’s nice scuffling about the place, occasionally emitting joyful squeaks on catching glimpses of my totally adorable little paws, nose and whiskers – whiskers! – in any passable reflective surface. Having whiskers is awesome, I tell you. No more crashing into door-frames for yours truly! 

You’re probably wondering, and why not, what?!?! And, indeed, how?!?!

All I can tell you is that, th’other morn’, post D leaving for work, I awoke to find myself cozily curled up, under duvet, at bottom of bed. transformed in my bed into a tiny rodere. 

My small mousey brain seems to lack the will or capacity to ponder the predicament I find myself in. 

Life is all delight. I nap, I nibble. I read. What a charm it is to scamper over pages, using my Lilliputian nose to follow my place – word by word, sentence by sentence – my savvy tail to turn the pages. 

What a darling image I’ve painted for you! 

 
*Yawns adorably. Stretching out her tiny, tiny mouse arms. Seriously. So cute.*

Squeak!**
**Fin!

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