Stanley is a copycat or a copy of a copycat.
If I arch my back, he arches his. If I wave my tail, he waves his. He’s an idiot, but we’re close as close could be.
Last week, I was adopted and I wanted Stanley to join me. I searched every alley and garbage can we’d been in. Backyards, too.
“Stanley, I’m moving.”
“1032 Overhill Street.”
“Where are you, Stanley?”
“Why would you leave me now?”
When I found him, I learned one thing for sure.
Unless you don’t mind sharing, Stanley was no cat to introduce your girlfriend to.
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