Pussy Crooner

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Pussy was a musical cat. Sometimes the tabby played a lute and others a bagpipe. She yowled at pubs throughout the British Isles that bear the name Cat and Fiddle. Accompanists flocked to back her up. 

Nine long lives she lived and nine again but cats grow old, as do we all. She retired to a barn in Cheshire, then to an old wishing well with one last request: a concert. Johnny Green gathered a band for Pussy’s last show. His father beat him. Said, “A better mouser never was nor will be.”

Pussy had nought but praise. T’was time.

Heisenberg Cat and Mouse

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Late as usual, HJ Rabbit sat down at the hookah bar and pulled in smoke, hiccuping and shedding huge tears.

Cheshire Cat materialized. “What took you so long?”

HJ snuffled into a linen handkerchief. “Couldn’t catch the queen.”

One-half of a smile appeared across the mushroom table. “You do know, she’s just a placeholder? Something of a nothing.”

“Really?”

The entire smile emerged. “So she’s easy to find.”

“However will we manage to do that?”

“You speed down x in real time. I’ll pop in and out of the imaginary axis. She never goes anywhere. We’ll meet her at zero.”

A Watch for All Time

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His Excellency, Herman Jay Rabbit, leaned against a case displaying all manner of timepieces, all keeping time at different speeds. Most of Wonderland had learned to live with this.

Rabbit had not. “My good sir, you have perverted time itself,” he said when the shopkeeper arrived from behind a brown curtain.

Fingering a loupe, he said, “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“I always seem to be late.”

“For whom,” asked the man.

“Her Majesty.”

The man said, “There’s no watch fast enough to keep up with the Queen.”

“But I must arrive on time.”

“You’ll need a calculator.”