For a catstaff, the most difficult bit of reality, arguably, is the fundamental incompatiblity of plantly goodness with catchenal goodness.
Don’t get get the boys wrong.
The Matisse loves plants. Especially flowers. Pink flowers. With lots of petals. Very much! Hug them and squeeze them and nuzzle them and dig them and call them George. Yes! And of course, strew dirt all over the floor, as much square footage as possible please, and as much dirt rubbed into his fur, please please! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm dirt. Dirty dirty dirt with happy drool!
I wondered if he was so happy because he got to have all the fun of making a giant mess without the pain and drudgery of cleaning it all up.
Probably not. He’s not evil nor is he capable of such machinations.
See?
Unalike, perhaps, the Picasso.
Who, on the other hand, prefers cut flowers. In tall vases. To rub against and lean upon. To accidentally knock over. For the fantastic keeeeeeeeeerash! Again! Again! Again!
And then there’s me. I love flowers, and prefer them upright and intact. Oddly enough.
Would I be able to combine the two? Could plants and catchen live in harmony? Would I be pushing my catstaff luck?
