Walt read this house by the Zen center right.  My future staff included a nurse and a psychologist.  Not everything was perfect.  Another cat, a brutish eunuch, whose name was Chaucer (aka Chaucey & Mr C) already lived there.  He wasn’t the sort of kitty to welcome anybody new.  To get in, I played my wounds for all they were worth.  The nurse, a kinder person than the psychologist, took me in.  She set up an infirmary in the back of the house with a comfortable sofa that I turned into a bed.  She bound up my wounds and began to heal me.  The psychologist was in Mr C’s thrall.  Despite my wounds, he showed more attention and love to Chaucey.  Chaucey also wouldn’t suffer to share the whole house with me.  I was confined to the infirmary.  I bided my time.  After a while, I had the nurse wrapped around my forepaw.  My lobby for full access to the house was ceaseless.  One day, whilst sitting on her lap in the living room, the psychologist saw something in my battered demeanor that reminded him of an old hit of the Miracles, “I’m just a loved machine.”  He sang a riff from it and moved my shoulders in a way that won the nurse to me.  She declared I was the Love Machine.   Being battered and weak is not always to a cat’s disadvantage when running with big humans.  I knew it was just a matter of time before she expanded my beat to the entire house.  Chaucer was doomed to lose