Clouds

"Why so grim?", Old Tom Cat asked, but Little Kitten turned away – stared at the sky with wistful eyes, withdrawn from this sweet, golden day. "Why so gloomy?", Old Tom prodded, flicking Kitten with his tail. "No room for melancholy thoughts when sun is heavy on the vale." Little Kitten turned his head, shaking off his pensive shroud. "I want to be a bird", he sighed, "and sleep upon a silver cloud." Old Tom's whiskers twitched a bit – he had these feelings sometimes too, but cats were cats and birds were birds, grass was green and sky was blue. "See here, Small Kit, let's run about, scampering in meadow weeds, caper through the dandelions, loosening their soft, grey seeds. Depression will soon float away with all the downy fluff. We'll make a million tiny clouds and that will be enough."