Underground with the worms?
It's another fine moist
You've gotten me in, Stanley.
N'est-ce pas?
"The night was moist," wrote Billy Crystal,
As the writers blocked scrivener in
"Throw Mama from the Train."
You run into many old friends, here.
Here in the slime is where I'm at.
Let me show you where it's at.
And that's a fact, Jack.
My ROM brain is prewired,
Yet subvocal mnemonics filter thru,
A RAM cache, stored for future amusement,
But crossing over now, randomly.

Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,
An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature;
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.

I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
A singular development of cat communications
That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.

A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.

O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.

-Data