Pitter patter pat pat pit pit Rain falls on the grass The black cat who loves writing Continues this activity as if unaware of the rain

Pitter patter pit pat Louder and louder the rain gets The cat still absorbed in his own world

Is this flow? A bystander wondered As he stood heavily drenched in rain He had left his umbrella at home

He watched the black cat through a window The cat didn’t have a care in the world He wondered if the cat was writing a novel A song, a story, or even drawing a picture

Ah, I want to know, the man said So he entered the shop where the cat sat

The man moved closer and closer to the cat One step at a time So as not to disturb him And then he quietly peeked at the book Where the cat was busy writing away

As the man tried to make sense of what the cat was writing He could make none of it out Was it a strange cat language, he wondered?

The cat wrote on, page after page Characters the man could not understand Now his curiosity peaked even more To know what the cat was writing about

So the man, tempted, reached out to disturb the cat and ask

The cat looked up and replied — “Meow”

The man then realized that cats can’t speak human language

Was all of this — the writing cat, the wanting to know — happening only in his head?

Curiosity, you see, has a way of running away with your mind