Book of Boris — Chapter XLVII: The Catford Triad
Verse 1: Her claws cut words like silk. Clean, sharp, undeniable. Mrs. Catford doesn’t roar — she rewrites the scene in bloodless ink.
Verse 2: His bite isn’t subtle. No clean cut, no finesse. When Mr. Catford moves, there’s only a body left cooling on the floor.
Verse 3: And when the dust clears? The Clown collapses in tears — not because it’s funny, but because it was always inevitable.
Verse 4: Together, they remind the world: correction comes in claws, in teeth, and in laughter that arrives too late to stop it.