He was born in a barn and abandoned by his mother.  Brought to a neighboring farm, a little boy named him GrayCute.  He was gray.  He was cute.  He is gray and he is cute.  He had a dance with death to the tune of – 4×4 tire meets kitten, kitten escapes in time but for his rear paw.  He’s a little crooked now.  He had another close call with some raw meat heading down the wrong pipe.  Alive again, he spends his remaining seven lives in the safety of children’s role-play.  There he is king.  He is a troubled artist.  His is a monster out to kill Barbie and her little ponies.  He has his own theme song that is whistled or sung daily.

I am a GrayCute.  A simple GrayCute.  Strolling down the country with my big belly.  Might stop at a restaurant and eat some pizza or maybe twenty and then that’s plenty.  I am a GrayCute.  You are one toooooo. ( L. Curtis, 2012 ).