i would like to be a butterfly

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I would like to be a butterfly because they're so graceful and pretty. They flutter by, their beautiful little wings - as unique as the whorls and curls of our fingerprints, or did I make that up - beating to a sensual drum that only they can hear. They are exotic and sensitive, erotic and somewhat cheeky. I'm actually quite convinced that the butterfly has many thoughts. It sometimes wishes it were a caterpillar again, or sleeping in its cocoon, a baby, yet to be forced into the crazy world of adulthood. It is drawn not only to the flower, but also to the brick wall. Why, oh butterfly? Why? Is it just to mess with my head? Is it purely because you like me taking your photo and you know you look good against the brick? The butterfly likes to tease my cats. It flits from A to B, then to C before heading back to A, skirting around B, C, D and E, eventually finding a perfect spot at F. All the while it does this it's goading the cats. Look at me, I'm so pretty! Catch me if you can! laughs the butterfly. And then the cats pounce. The butterfly falls to the floor, twirling haphazardly and sniffing in despair. It lays there. It dies. The cats walk away in disgust at how fragile their toy is, broken after just one play. I don't want to be a butterfly anymore; I think I'd like to go back to wanting to be a cat.