Maldi Tofferi

There was a beautiful shriek in the middle of the night, as though a lovely woman had suddenly had her sheer nightgown ripped away in the cold corridor by the lumberjackian paper man with the black beard and the straw hat and she was startled and embarassed but oddly pleased at the same time. It was like that but it wasn't that. I was actually the sound of the old barn gate, moving with the urges of the wind and occasionally causing the cat to stir.
What was the cat stirring? Milk and blood orange juice, which was its favorite thing to have before going to the bedroom.
It sat down at the dumpy stump where there used to be a trickle tree and the swishy swing did hang, and lapped the mixture. Lap lap lap lappity lap lap lap.
It was all gone and the cat was feeling bloated and harsh, so it went for a quick stroll and then the gate made a sudden crash to closed. This made the cat lose alot of that mixture around it, and it therefor felt much less bloated.
It went to the bedroom, and I said, "no don't gome hin her." I was tired and halfway asleep, but the cat understood.
But the cat understood. But the cat understood. But the cat...under...stood...but...the...cat......
When I awoke, I found a golden star of Elija on my doorframe and a note:
irma sryeha thao iaw woowke yu uppa lasst niet. -cayat
Dang, I felt bad for being to harsh to the cat, but then I remembered that I actually wasn't that harsh, just stern and afterall, it understood.