Hello, Scarlet. My NuMa told me about you. Well, she pretty much had to. When she came home this day, her clothes reeked of you. Your hairs were all over her leg-sheaths and foot-boxes. The penny my NuMa keeps in her foot-box (to keep herself humble around me) is the same color as your hair. NuMa says you are a "HORSE," as if that were a great thing to be. Hmph. But, after I allowed her to worship me thoroughly and pour me a smackerel of goat-milk (she is getting better at that at least), I decided let it pass. What a grand lady you are! I like your attitude. Well, for the most part. Sometimes, if you do not mind my saying so, dearie, you sound just a little tad on the ... obedient ... side. You really ought to work on that. I, you must know, am a CAT---deceptively small animal; soft-warm fur; upright, pointy ears; long tail; fangs; sharp claws. Other species are wise not to forget the claws. Do any cats own your people? It is late-dark now, so I can not get into my NuMa's tap-writer, where you are. I am memorizing this, so I shall send this to you when I can. I used to share my home with people who trained me very, very strictly. My name was Sassy then. I never really got it that THEY were the slaves and I was the BOSS until it was too late; and, by then ... let us not go there. The Friends-For-Life people took me away in a nasty box. When I got out I found myself in a cage! NuMa came along and got the Friends-For-Life people to stuff me BACK into that SAME malodorous box! Phthzzzzth. She took me to her place and let me out---into a real home. I have not been in that box since. But now, NuMa calls me "Jumper." Jumper. I ask you. Why not call me something fierce, like "Blackie?" Or "Smilodon." "Scarlet," now--THAT is a NAME. When NuMa says "Jumper," and I come within reach, then she rubs my ears and rakes my back, and says worshipful things. So, I must try to put up with being called "Jumper," I suppose. How many creatures are you THE BOSS of, there at Walkabout Farm? Your Correspondent, Jumper (previously yclept Sassy)
Post Scriptum: Scarlet, dear ... If you MUST do what they ask you to do, heed this advice: PRETEND IT IS ALL YOUR OWN IDEA. That prevents inappropriate delusions of (excuse the language) "equality" on their part. Trust me on this. Your Correspondent, Jumper
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Hello, Scarlet.
My NuMa told me about you. Well, she pretty much had to. When she came home this day, her clothes reeked of you. Your hairs were all over her leg-sheaths and foot-boxes. The penny my NuMa keeps in her foot-box (to keep herself humble around me) is the same color as your hair.
NuMa says you are a "HORSE," as if that were a great thing to be. Hmph.
But, after I allowed her to worship me thoroughly and pour me a smackerel of goat-milk (she is getting better at that at least), I decided let it pass.
What a grand lady you are! I like your attitude. Well, for the most part. Sometimes, if you do not mind my saying so, dearie, you sound just a little tad on the ... obedient ... side. You really ought to work on that.
I, you must know, am a CAT---deceptively small animal; soft-warm fur; upright, pointy ears; long tail; fangs; sharp claws. Other species are wise not to forget the claws.
Do any cats own your people?
It is late-dark now, so I can not get into my NuMa's tap-writer, where you are. I am memorizing this, so I shall send this to you when I can.
I used to share my home with people who trained me very, very strictly. My name was Sassy then. I never really got it that THEY were the slaves and I was the BOSS until it was too late; and, by then ... let us not go there.
The Friends-For-Life people took me away in a nasty box. When I got out I found myself in a cage!
NuMa came along and got the Friends-For-Life people to stuff me BACK into that SAME malodorous box! Phthzzzzth. She took me to her place and let me out---into a real home. I have not been in that box since.
But now, NuMa calls me "Jumper."
Jumper. I ask you.
Why not call me something fierce, like "Blackie?" Or "Smilodon."
"Scarlet," now--THAT is a NAME.
When NuMa says "Jumper," and I come within reach, then she rubs my ears and rakes my back, and says worshipful things. So, I must try to put up with being called "Jumper," I suppose.
How many creatures are you THE BOSS of, there at Walkabout Farm?
Your Correspondent,
Jumper
(previously yclept Sassy)
Post Scriptum:
Scarlet, dear ... If you MUST do what they ask you to do, heed this advice:
PRETEND IT IS ALL YOUR OWN IDEA.
That prevents inappropriate delusions of (excuse the language) "equality" on their part.
Trust me on this.
Your Correspondent,
Jumper
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