Once upon a time, a long way back,

an intelligent boy of eight, bumped

into a cat.

“Hey, watch it stranger.” said the cat.

“I’m not the one whose strange.”

the boy said back.

“How can you say that?

Just look at you—

and what’s up with your hat?”

“It’s called a ten-gallon; I found it at a


on top of a rack.


can you please just scat.

I’ve had quite enough of this chat.”

“Sure, sure,” said the cat, “I’ll let you


As long as it’s clear

you’re stranger than me!”

“Oh, yea? And to what degree?”

“Well, you see,

You’re the one talking to

a cat on the stree”—

“Well!”—the boy interrupted—

you’re down right, right…corrupted!”

“Whoa, whoa, there.


how do you…”

the cat stopped and shook his head,

just before he calmly said,

“Let’s leave it at this,

dear boy:

what might be strange to you,

may not be strange for me.

You see?”

“Yes, I guess I can agree.”

With that said,

the boy took his leave.

All the while


a talking cat.

How strange is that?

20 thoughts on “Strange

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