Mornings are heavily made up of cats. Feline images come back after a night of angry cat snarlings. Now the cats purr softly as fog on our windowpanes.
Sometimes cats do a night duty with Shakespeare. They do not easily make up their minds about where they have to keep their kiddens. They carry them into the night by the scruff of their silken necks.
There are watchmen, like cats, sitting in basements shooing away street dogs from eaten breakfast plates. In the middle of the nights their sticks tap night’s roads softly against thieves. Some watchmen have Himalayan wives whom they visit once a year. When they go to their homes they take pearls from the old city.