The Business
We're adopting a kitten we've named
Mr. Emerson Business III, Esquire
(for our various reasons).
The first time we met him,
he entered the room fully-charged,
his black and white fur standing,
it seemed, casually on end.
An effortless, soft explosion.
He was an uncontrolled tiny
tempest of continuous frenetic motion
like an untied balloon released
into the shelter room until he landed
somehow in the plastic trash can,
then paused, remembered himself, reinflated
and shot out after a shoelace, a shadow, a cell phone.
Absurd, really, and unpredictable.
An energy we miss when we see it suddenly.
Suppose this was our mission statement:
To create silliness with such abandon
and to give it to others as an unexpected gift.
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