Dear Pluto,
My old claws curled up. My pink lips blew bubbles. You knew I had seen too much of the sunlight’s piercing white gleam as I tried to reach to the top of that bright white ocean foam where Feathers lives. I wouldn’t have been able to continue breathing if your backward dark hand had not been around to push my body back down to the darkest waters of the oceans’ floors where I belong.
I could have drowned. You knew had I continued climbing upward, clawing away and cutting through the deep blue sea, I wouldn’t have made it. Feathers wouldn’t have received my message–her warning. But you made it just in time to save me and alert Feathers. When I felt your heavy entrance, I understood you’d bring new feats.
Feathers and I now see that God’s unfulfilled soul contract lives now with you. We no longer own it. You carry it through. It gladdens me to see today your icy rock waters running aft.
Black Cat Words 