Now listen to me closely I’ll endeavor to explain
What separates a charlatan from a Charlemagne
A rule confessed by generals illustrious and various
Though pompous as a Pompey or daring as a Darius
A simple rule that every good man knows by heart
It’s smarter to be lucky than it’s lucky to be smart
Obi spent the whole day setting up ambushes for his brother. Brilliant ambushes. Ambushes that were rarely turned into successful attacks.
Things started out well for the brown kitten. Oliver and I were sleeping when we heard him call from downstairs. But as Oliver followed me down the staircase he was attacked from behind. Either Obi has learned to throw his voice or he crept upstairs after calling us. Sneaky, either way.
But that’s where the brown kitten’s luck ended. All day, he would race into the living room and hide. Behind the arm of the couch. Under the quilt. Behind my legs.
And there would be no brother.
Oliver kept getting distracted, mid-Thunder, and failed to follow his brother into the trap. There were snackums to eat. Dirty feet to wash just before getting to the living room. Fuzzies to sniff.
So unfair, Obi thought.
And even when Oliver walked into the trap he had perfect timing that foiled Obi’s plans. A cleverly concealed brown kitten leapt from behind the arm of the couch and landed… Where Oliver had been second before – before he decided to walk over and scratch the door mat.
So not right, Obi pouted.
Obi has given up on battle and is napping on his quilt. Oliver has decided to help me with my game. He’s lending me his strategy: it’s smarter to be lucky than its lucky to be smart.