Brindle purred on his back in the sunbeam. Dust motes danced as the sun drifted lackadaisically toward the horizon. He flicked his tail, threatening to smear Hardod's scroll. The wizard jerked the paper away, muttering imprecations. Brindle sneezed merrily.
"It's all very well for you," Hardod grumbled. "Cats serve no lords, so what have you to fret about? All whimsy and carelessness."
"Of course we are frivolous. It's our only defense." Brindle opened his eyes. "Have you never thought, O Wizard, what it means to serve no one? Cats are beholden only to ourselves, and there can be no excuses."
Tapson on Tales and Totalitarianism
9 hours ago