i am a kitten built of hatred begrudging the winter-wet pad towards work underneath a grey sky still spitting fury,
but not dampened. cats can't hold umbrellas.
i jump onto my desk and rub the keyboard. it rattles and sounds like work, and doesn't rub back.
i play with my mouse.
a person sneaks up behind me. what am i doing? i don't know what I'm doing. don't they know I'm a kitten built of hatred? my hackles rise and fall, like the sun behind the grey-cloud sky.
it's not lunchtime, but i'm not eating lunch, gulping big mouthfuls of tolerating-these-conditions, forgetting to chew, choking.
sufferance strains against my hateful and tiny kitten throat, pink maw and white teeth reflectively caught in the otherwise dull and uneventful monitor.
kittens of hatred are fuelled by milk chocolate and loathing.
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