They are quite like kitten, you know, and of course must be treated accordingly . . . Disciplining marking of boundaries, the daily and nightly greetings, and of course, the constant reminders of their duties to mrree. How forgetful these cubs can be.
Mind you, I have had much rougher life than this. I was a hunter at one point, dirtying my paws and picking feather from my teeth. Though the freedom to wander to and fro, from my establishment I used to frequent, still plague me on sunny days . . . Ah memories . . . but when I was snatched up during that one fateless day, I thought mrry life was at its end . . .
I had just left mrry current fetish, a handsome black Tommy . . . I spot those really slow flappers that never seem to have a care in the world. As I was about to pounce one of these Humyn things, unknown to me, snatched me up and threw me into a cage . . . Me . . . ! I was horrified and then they took mrry . . . Well, I can't mention it here, but let us say I no longer had any interest in that Tommy. Ahhhrrrr . . . But I regress . . .
The completely furless cub seemed lost when he came to my Prison (I soon found out this was an ongoing state). I was in the socializing mood, which is part of my nature, to say the least, and decided to help him. And here he brought me, with a few other cubs, to mrry store. All the other cubs who work mrry store know their place or mrry space . . . There of course is that one who thinks he is honoured enough to be as I am, a cat that is, but who's to blame the cub . . . and there is the one who believes he's actually superior to me. Well, we all have our foibles, don't we? All the rest, I have wrapped around my paw and when they don't do as I want, they know it. The names the store cubs decided to call me, since they can't pronounce my real name, does get confusing at times: Ag At is such a pretty stone, but what it has to do whith me, I dare not think about. Then there is that Eckla name which must describe my furball problem, and Thev O Elia, which is what I scream when my tail gets tromped on. Humyns! Who can understand them . . .
As for my occupation, I deal with many of these Humyn on a daily basis, supervising and keeping them in line. The hardest time I have is finding a place to rest without being disturbed after entertaining all of them.
The Other Change of Hobbit
email to: ochobbit@otherchangeofhobbit.com
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