Carnation Street

My name is Quentin. I'm a stray cat who lives at number 32 Carnation Street, planet earth. Having nine lives is a serious business. It's not something to be trifled with, especially a cat like me. No monsieur, I live dangerously. There's no guarantee that one day, I won't get ran over by a speeding car or hurled in front of a locomotive. Each passing day is fraught with peril so I intend to have my lives completely intact. It's a cruel world after all. A cold uncaring world populated with humans and other animals and those crawly creatures that I'd love to trample with my paws but I'm afraid to. An imperfect world which is constantly plagued with natural disasters that destroys and decimate. All things considered, my approach to life is "CAUTION!", all caps and an exclamation point.

Carnation Street on a Sunday morning softly bustles and hums, aglow with sunshine while time glides lazily like the breeze ruffling the gardenia bushes. The birds would go chirping. The bees and butterflies hopping about so nicely. Across the street at house number four, the piano plays Bach and Debussy. I'd go dreamy with Claire de Lune, stretch my paws and purr with such contentment I could be the king of Persia. A few faithful church-goers would usually stream out to the street for Sunday mass. Our favorite spinster sisters would be driven by a young chauffeur in their lime green sedan and that revolting beast next door would howl as the car rolled by ever so slowly.

Ah, life in suburbia is good my friends. The lads and I are gratefully indulgent to the usual loathsome creatures on Sundays. We let the dogs act abhorrently. None of us would mind if the hens in that chicken coop three houses down squawked and clucked. We savor the beauty of life every passing hour. We roll on the grass gazing at perfect blue skies and bask in the glorious sun. This is my world for now and perhaps for a very long time.

Anyway, welcome to my world. Sit back, relax and have a cigar!