Et In Arcadia Ego

Oh, that's it, Keko. Pass through. Go ahead. Just walk across my books without a glance, with all that arrogant insousiance of yours, encoded in that languid tread. No, never mind that I've been up all night engrossed in them. What now? So why the pause? Ah, now I see. You might retract your claws in expectation of a fondle-fight. What must it be, to live a life by whim, to eat, to sleep, to gambol, amble, bask as humour takes you, never think to ask of costs or consequences, to never trim or balance, need to tack, or double back. There's no-one holding you to strict account. You waste your time guilt-free, don't have to mount defence or mitigation. If you lack the cares and burdens of my tedious chores, perhaps there's something else you'll never own - a subtle thing called purpose, which alone gives point to my percentages and scores. Don't look so smug for landing on all fours! This ledger's done. I know I have to die, and that's my tragedy. You, pumpkin pie, don't have a clue what's coming. And that's yours.