shedn’t you?

As the season cools I watch the maples as they mimic me. A pool of shed leaves puddles beneath the limbs of trees. A puff of cool wind for them and in here the hum of heating system strumming to a paradaisical life. As I relax, my follicles seem to release like a porcupine. My hairs weave themselves into the nap of chairs, bedding and carpeting so that the whole world feels an extension of myself. I shed a whole litter’s worth of inert, unmewing minisleves the last time I sat down for a good petting.


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