You were made to eat. Its up to your face but after its clean and perfect again. Your fur is purrfect black and white. Your construction gangly -you will grow into it. You are a thrill. You Tinkebell are brave and lithe of limb. then you crumple and your back legs slows down when your back legs are round your head. You are a promise of fun. At play you are OK. Life is too harsh for you but you will grow into it. Day turns to night , night turns to day and I’m in a daze. A zombie opens your pouch and pours out your food. A selections of dried stars and I’m ready again. I’m not hungry. I don’t eat breakfast. You are nowhere to be seen. Your litter tray tells me you were here recently. What a smell! If you were a baby and i was alone. I dread to think. Where have you gone? With hindsight you were young – the rest is easier, you have grown into it.