Prologue

Once upon a time, on a wooded island in the middle of what could be considered the ocean (though not quite as vast and immeasurable), there lived a young man.

One American state to the south, there lived a young woman a bright countenance and hair as golden-brown as the feast of honeybees.

It could be surmised that there was a lineage of gray, medium-to-long haired cats, needy by nature, who often must scratch, surviving all manners of peril.

Who knows where it was (the record is lost) his ancestors may have been feral.

And ways off away, (I don't know, my dear reader), there was a stout woman who worked as a breeder. Small tiny pups, smashed faces and snorting, wriggled and wiggled (with very much snorting). A family tree of black and white dogs, some brindled and red, all snorting like hogs. Names they'd come up with, like Chaos or Danger, until they produced a pup in a manger.

It started rhyming at the end for no reason

Perhaps it's the weather

(Perhaps it's the season)

A story that starts like wind for a wave

I'll tell it and stuff, my pets won't behave.