"I hate grass." I looked down. "What's the problem with grass?" The cat stopped and glared up at me. "It's one thing when you're your height. You can stomp around, and the grass can't say much of anything because you're so big and it's so small. But when you're a foot and a bit high, the grass knows better. Grass isn't dumb, bud. It knows." "I never thought of it that way." "Of course you didn't. You never think about things like proportion. You're what, five-eight? When grass is six inches high, the relative difference in scale isn't something you would worry all that much about." "I see." I sprawled out on the grass and peered through the shafts of green. "I never noticed how different it can be from down here. You get to see all kinds of stuff that I can't from up there. There's all sorts of cool things down here. Like that tiny blade over there. It's..." "Don't touch that," the cat warned. "Why not? It's just a... oww!! The little %$^#@& bit me!!!!!" The cat sighed with melodramatic patience. "I told you. The grass knows."