Leonard is an esoteric leopard.
Leonard once dyed his spots pink, then orange, then blue. Leonard has been known to dance in a tutu, sometimes two tutus.
One can never tell what Leonard will do.
Instead of eating a flamingo, Leonard is dating a flamingo.
A flamboyant flamingo with flaming red lips, when she's all made up to trip the light fantastic.
Philomena flamingo dances a mean fandango.
Together, booted and suited, pressed and dressed, Leonard and Philomena hit the town, spottiest coat, fluffiest gown. Together they dance and dance and dance, dance up and down, dance round and round.
After one big night of cutting a rug, jitterbug, bunny hug, the debonair pair went home to their pied-à-terre.
As hungry as wild animals.
But the fridge was empty, the kitchen, mother Hubbard, not even a box of cereal at the back of a cupboard.
Leonard was dangerously hungry, like a leopard.
He thought to himself, “I don't want to do anything hasty, but Philomena looks awfully tasty. I might have fabulous purple spots, but I am a leopard and, well, you know . . . ”
Watching her in the open plan kitchen, he wondered what she was doing, hanging around the refrigerator.
“We've been too busy bar hopping to do any shopping”, she said to herself.
“How is that going to fix anything?”, thought Leonard, salivating, his tummy rumbling, his tummy grumbling.
Leonard had to eat.
Then she was on the phone, having dialed the number on a magnet on the fridge.
“Hey, Rocco, it's Philomena, you still open, hon? Yes, I know it's quarter past one, but we have no food, something needs to be done.”
She called to Leonard, “large capricciosa, darling?”.
A shaking, sweating, ashamed, Leonard replied, “best make it two.”
Later, sated, yawning, cuddling Philomena in his paws, Leonard said, “tomorrow, my love, I will take you, for breakfast”.
Parkstreet
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