In a bit of synchronicity I came across this quote today for a friend who's cat passed.
Fog By Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
Dead Cat Bounce?
Sorry for the cat!
Is it possible that the fiat mess transforms us into lovers of poetry again? Nice
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Why not? :)
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Sounds good to me.
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