Sip

Meow.

Sip, sip I drip my whiskers in ambrosia - the gold of liquids. My pupils dilate at a sniff of pure fresh air of dreams. Transported away. Gone out.

Jolted with an energy I run past the hurdles faced. Lightning at heart reverbing all insides upside up and down. Released, the rush passes. I wait a brief minute before I sip, sip again.