Once upon a time ...
a long, long, looooong time ago the king of the lemmings leapt up from his fluffy little bed clutching his furry chest with one paw and clamping his glittery crown to his head with the other. "My darling," said his wife, the Queenypoo of the lemmings, "What ever is the matter? You're trembling and panting. Did you have a royal nightmare?"
"We must RUN! Run, run, run! I had the most awful vision. Cats, cats everywhere! Gleaming fangs, hundreds of slashy claws, and leapy, twisty, contortionistic gleaming bodies! It was hideous! You can't imagine. Run and save yourselves!"
"It was just a dream, darling, don't give yourself a heart attack."
"No, we must save ourselves NOW. Run, run, run."
And so the whole tribe of lemmings ran and ran and ran and instead of the danger of the massed might of the Cats of the Pet Talk Round Table, they ran right off a cliff. Oopsie! Oh, my! Darned shame. The moral of this story might be that it pays to listen to the queenypoo on occasion. Maybe not.
Sweet dreams, little fur-babies. Mommy loves you dearly.
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