The cow had spent a long time alone on the infinite staircase and could have sworn she had recently eaten some grass. In fact yes, there some was now, still in her mouth. How odd then, that the bowl of grass remained full to the brim she thought to herself, before shrugging as much as a cow is able, and taking another mouthful of grass and slurping a mouthful of water.
She looked between her legs and saw that her udders were swollen and veins protruded unattractively from the sides of them. What a cruel twist of fate it was that whoever had invented cows had made them in a way that they required a human to milk them every so often. Conversely, how fortunate that humans were invented with the desire to drink the milk of other species. Well, cow’s, goats, and occasionally something called a ‘Soy’.
The cow seemed to remember reading an article at some stage about the dangers of failing to milk a dairy cow and how they very well may explode should enough time elapse between milking. Whilst she vaguely remembered this article, she could not remember whether there was any truth in it, nor could she remember ever having been milked.
A drop of milk fell from one of her udders and made a light splash against one of the stairs, which echoed oddly around the room, which presumably had walls somewhere that she was unable to see.
“I do wonder,” she wondered “If the meaning of life is simply to offer a continuation of life itself. To keep the species going, and provide some kind of insight into how one survives in the world. How to source food, and drink, for instance. The very basic of things? Or whether it is indeed to push the species to the next level of evolution. Thumbs, perhaps, or knees that let you go back down the stairs instead of just up them.”
Suddenly, she needed to sneeze. So she did.
Where was she?
She had forgotten, so she decided to have some nice grass. She hoped there was some left.