I bought another present for you and left the box by your front door. I was watching from across the street, I heard you as you swore. I felt the bile you projected all the way from there, I felt the jolts and every thump as you hurled my present down your stairs. When you heard it whimper and you rushed over to see, I felt sick. I felt positively beastly. It wasn't meant to go like that. You always said that all you wanted was a cat.
Well that cat must've used up one of it's nine lives, without a scratch it somehow miraculously survived. You clutched it to your chest and rushed the poor wretched thing inside. My love was like the box, forgotten, crushed, and left behind.