Mistress Mittens was done with Aprils. She was pretty sure she could live a perfectly happy life without them. She was tired of the clouds, she was tired of the rain, and she was tired of the disgustingly chipper birds and gastropods. Despite her best efforts she just couldn’t keep the damp off of her lovely tail and dainty paws, and she didn’t have enough words to describe her loathing of flowers. Her only consolation was a slow campaign of sabotage against the neighbor’s garden and the knowledge that vengeful winter would eventually return.

2009