This is a very special english to cat language translator using the favorite word MOU by our beloved cat named ELMO. MOU stands also for Memorandum of Understanding, which describes the unspoken agreement between humans and animals, especially cats.
You can translate any text in english, but we would love to suggest you to translate the following text, written in memory of ELMO.
Dear Paul, yesterday I bought a new mattress. The decision to embark on this unpleasant undertaking had matured over weeks and was confirmed by the fact that my sleep, especially in the early morning hours, was regularly interrupted by unpleasantly loud snapping sounds and clicking noises, the source of which I was initially unable to fathom, because as soon as I woke up, they were already gone. Since I usually fall asleep alone and wake up alone, I had to assume the probability that I myself was the cause of these noises, a circumstance that did not cause worries, but which I had to get to the bottom of if I wanted to regain my sleep. Clicking and snapping sounds, dear Paul, belong to the repertoire of human expressiveness, even if - apart from a few languages in eastern Africa - rather in the non-verbal and paralingual field of communication. Especially when trying to talk to animals, humans snap, hiss and click for all they're worth, or for what their tongues can offer. But I have neither cat nor bird, no dog, no horse. So where does the early morning click and snap come from? It had to be, so my conclusion, the mattress, as the vernacular says: "As one beds oneself, so one lies". So I scoured the city map for mattress stores and wrote down a few addresses on the back of my hand. Have you ever noticed, dear Paul, that mattress stores, especially the cheap ones, are located exclusively in corner buildings? Maybe there is something like a secret plan that wisely assigned the mattress stores the best locations for the erection of street barricades to come. Anyway, I decided to go first to the store called "Matratzen-Concordia", because where there is unity, I thought in my simplicity, it’s where to sleep peacefully.
So there I went.
Inside it smelled of turpentine. The woman behind the counter pointed wordlessly - for a brief moment I thought I heard a click - to a row of gray felt slippers next to the entrance. Also without a word or a greeting, I put on a pair. I was the only customer. The late afternoon light fell softly through the shop windows on piles of mattresses stacked overman-high. Crisscrossed by narrow alleys, the floral-patterned mattress towers remained me of painted backdrops in a ruined castle or monastery garden. I followed obediently the arrows on the ground. Accompanied only by the shuffling of my slippers, I penetrated deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine of the mattress corridors, and the further I ventured, the higher the mattress walls became, the closer the soft bloated mattress bodies moved together, looking as if they had gorged themselves on masses of swallowed sound.
Just as I - seized by a quiet panic - decided to leave the mattress store in a hurry, but avoiding any attention, and without having achieved anything, I realized that I was not alone. A lady, dressed in the yellow house costume of Matratzen-Concordia, stood in the half-darkness under a sheer overhanging mattress wall. I was already ashamed of my hasty thoughts of escape, but she only asked, "Are you interested in Claude Lorrain?" I didn't manage a clear answer, and the woman, obviously noticing my hesitation, said, "Then I'll show you something else. Follow me, please." Reaching the end of the corridor, the lady opened a low, padded door that barely stood out against the mattress walls. We entered a brightly lit open-plan office, but it seemed only half occupied. The lady offered me a chair and told me to wait. To my right, a coffee machine was humming, neon lights were buzzing on the ceiling, and the whir of a vacuum cleaner could be heard somewhere in the depths of the room. The floor, I noticed only now, consisted of yellow bricks, which astonished me to some extent, since it reminded me of a picture that I had noticed only recently in an exhibition, but the lady came back and tore me out of my thoughts. She was accompanied by a huge, nobly dressed black tomcat. The cat placed a black briefcase with the emblem of "Matratzen-Concordia" on the table and took from it three cone-shaped glasses and a bottle with a clear liquid. "Noblesse oblige," said the cat, filling the glasses to the brim. "Is that vodka?" the lady asked weakly. "Pardon me, my lady," croaked the cat, "would I ever allow myself to pour vodka for a lady?" Without waiting for an answer, the cat reached for the briefcase again, moistened his paws with his velvety tongue, and picked out a stack of printed papers, which he carefully spread out before me. "In view of the special interests and needs of all the negotiating partners involved," the cat said solemnly, "as well as the moral and psychological significance of the transactional project under negotiation here, while observing the obligation of secrecy, and subject to a possible claim for damages in connection with self-referential statements about the obligation of all the partners to perform, I propose to toast the Memorandum of Understanding here before us!"
"Mou," said the lady.
"Mou," said the cat.
I said nothing and signed the Memorandum of Understanding in seven copies. Later, as we entered the staircase, the clicking and snapping began and I woke up. I then ordered the new mattress by phone from one of the addresses on the back of my hand, it was delivered today. Yours, Trmasan
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