Noir cat is noir. My sister's cat, Saffy, spent Easter Sunday brooding on dames, bank heists, and other people's life insurance policies.
You people, she said, and your powder blue and lavender eggs. So pretty, so sweet, but inside--inside is a chocolate so dark and also sweet that the eggs are in fact candy to the core. Some people can't handle that. Some people get washed up in the Cadbury cream tide. Other people make plans. Other people scheme, make the situation work for them, follow the rabbit and make damn sure he knows what time it is.
And then, one day, when the heat's died down, you sit back and watch all those mice hustle and bustle, caught up in some dream of meaningless cheese while you, you sit high on a pile of eggs and pure, uncut Columbian nip. Top of the world. The world is yours. Cagney and Muni ain't got nothing on you, kitty.
Oh, and here's a zoophyte I saw a few days ago;
It turns out caterpillars grow on plants.