Not my kitchen, not my pots, not my mess…

…nor my castle–what the hell happened here?
I changed my skin to evade the Witch hence.
(She’d never stoop to chase a house cat here.)
And either I changed planes of existence
on my romp-and-mice-stomp, or that witchy
brat had a  trans-dimensional gewgaw.
What’re the odds of getting to my duchy
unharmed without chalk dust or hands to draw
the spell circle that’ll cut reality
a new hole that leads to my comfy chair?
Just a hair’s breadth’s all I need to be free.
Maybe my claws can scratch it out, repair
the dislocation of my person and set
me back home enthroned with my tea set.

~ ~ ~

Prompt and picture courtesy of Magpie Tales #294