the cat
I don't know why she came to me
3 in the morning
I wasn't sleeping but in bed
The wind kept me awake
Sneaking in through all the holes in the walls
She sneaked in probably through the cellar
Although, I know she has a house of her own
Nice old couple, butcher and his wife
They call her the Flower Girl
She came to me 3 in the morning
All wet from snow
Crawled into my bed and slept around my feet
I wanted to cuddle - but she bites.
Her love language is not touching.
Reminds me of a lost love, orange fur, and a fury mind.
I told her many times, go hunt a mouse or something
I guess she prefers my stone-old bread more than fresh meat.
Putting the bed next to the window was a mistake,
All the cold gets in me.
The view is nice - farms coated in white.
Market in the morning but not sure if I can hitch a hike - roads closed.
Whisky on empty stomach.
Dream of buying some flour, maybe veggies and some meat.
Hungry dreams remind me of you.