Milk

Milk was a cat. A simple cat, who lived in a nice apartment, with a nice owner, who would feed him sloppy cat food every night. Every day he liked to escape the apartment complex and watch the rise and set of the sun.

This was because Milk had a dream. A dream that no cat should ever have. He wanted to travel the world. He had no idea as to how he should do so, which made sense, because he was a cat. And although he knew that many of his fellow kin despised being categorized by the humans as having a lesser brain capacity, he had accepted that there were various things the humans could do that he could not.

One of the more important details, other than not having thumbs, was that he could not read. Try as he must, his brain could not comprehend the complicated characters known as the written English language. And therefore, he could not read schedules, papers, or tickets.

Another problem was escaping, Milk could escape to the apartment terrace, but he was on the thirtieth floor; he couldn't just jump down.

And so he dreamt on, as he knew that a dream without a good plan was just a wish, and that wishes only came true to people who worked hard for them to come true.

But who was to say that he was not working hard? For every day, when the human left for work, Milk would jump onto her desk and attempt to read the brochures and papers scattered upon it.

But alas, his hard work bore nothing but rotten fruit.

Why? He wondered. Why wasn't I born human? Then I could travel the world, then I could do anything!

Milk started to despair. He soon started to realize it: The problem.

Milk was a cat. And cats did nothing but sit around all day and scratch on things that aren't supposed to be scratched on and eat wet cat food (which was actually quite delicious).

It's only natural. Milk thought. To achieve your goal, you're not supposed to work hard, you're supposed to work smart.

And unfortunately, Milk was not very smart.

END