Seven little cats in the grass

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It’s been a week of tired. Sometimes I despair that so much is on the edge. I have no work held back, no posts queued up, no drawings hovering.

Then you just make a mark, and something happens, and you just follow it. So this is fresh – last night – and with no idea what is over the edge of the precipice of tomorrow that I can see.

This is so damned whimsical I wish I could bottle it.

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