The Slaves of Cats

Fumble more I love you
Feed straight your imperfection
Prepare my affection
Idiotic


Oh I will one day ask for perfection
Scratch and sniff
Catch a scent
Purring


Outside a hurried man takes a different road to class. He greatly appreciated the change. It was right before the anniversary of his marriage to Erica Potsen. Love travels up and down in elevators. It only distracts you from the stairs. Posterchild for the posterchildless, a posterchild for posterchildren, the man keeps right on walking and reminds himself of where he's going.

John Robertson, bird imaginer, stepping into a puddle. He thought that was funny. He, of course, was imagining birds and stepping into puddles. It would not have been funny to anybody else would it. no. Good fortune to Elizabeth, he thought as he looked at a picture of an English coin.

He kept walking down the street, mumbling little bits of songs he learned when he was in college. But he was thinking. Running over why he was singing, never answering it so much as to keep just right on singing. Louder at bits of road without any people. Never happens in New York? I sing down West End Avenue. Put a Beer in me. Never with other people. Then you get lots of people singing and it's a nuisance you've created on a residential block. Nobody ever told me to shut up, but one time a man did yell and curse at John Robertson. John stopped in his tracks. He wondered if he ever did that to anybody. He could not remember that ever happening.