Ah, me. It must be said: "I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers." But I am Daphne, a nymph, not Blanche, a neurotic. Too long have I survived with strangers. I seem to recall that I once had a home, where I was loved and delicate and had fine feathered toys with which to play. It seems now that was long ago and far away. Perhaps I lost my home; perhaps my home lost me. I do not know.

I do know that I would much prefer the kindness of family. Someone in this world is waiting for me. Someone in this world is waiting for a soft, small, white lady who sits daintily and purrs. Someone in this world is waiting for a lady who doesn't rip, snort, and tear around - because she's a bit older - and because, while she has liquid blue eyes, she doesn't see too well. Oh, I can see a wiggling feather toy easy enough - but probably not the chair across the room that someone playing cheetah could crash into. Someone in this world is waiting for me.

I will sit in that chair, curl about myself, and purr. I'd like to sniff you, so I'll know it's you. My eyes and ears, I know, aren't quite up to snuff, so I've developed my other senses. There's nothing I don't smell, and I'm a lady, so I like a clean, clean box. The person who is waiting for me agrees. The person waiting for me will find me, curled about myself, and say, "Awwww....you are precious." And take me home for a kind forever. Would you mind, please, paying these kind strangers for my food, my nice clean box, and their affection? $100. Thank you kindly.

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