Nice balance!
Whether ’tis nobler in the beak to suffer
The smells and lactose of outrageous cheese
Or to take claw against a sea of kitties
And by opposing nom them. To nom, to fly –
No more–and by a nom to say we end
The bellyache, and the thousand daily hungers
That flesh is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To nom, to fly –
To migrate–perchance to mate: ay, there’s the rub…
