When I grow up, I want to be a writer like the male human. He gets a desk and a good chair all to himself. His desk often has tea, beer and yummy foods on it. Sometimes he drops cheese or bacon on the floor and I can eat it. When he goes to the kitchen for more beer, I steal his chair. It's all warm and toasty and I can see over the desk. There are lots of crows outside. But I am safe inside in my writer's chair. One day, I will write my autobiography. Or I'll make the male human do it for me.