Idle Thoughts and Other Comments
Random ramblings from a curmudgeon spanning two millenia.
Last night, Snowball and her mom and I were having a nice, quiet Friday evening pizza dinner at the Homestead. We were enjoying our customary routine of guessing the puzzles on Wheel of Fortune and looking forward to watching baseball, Royals or Cubs, afterwards. Suddenly there was a knock that sounded just like someone at the front door except it was coming from the floor! […]
One of my favorite guilty pleasures is a show on PBS called ‘This Old House”. Its the original reality show where they find some people who own a house that needs updating. On the episode where they introduce us to the house, they go through with the owners of what looks like a perfectly livable house and look at all the problems they have with it; […]
This summer mother-of-Snowball built a sun room for her myriad of plants. During the process I snapped regular pictures from a camera I set up to watch the show. It was like a live feed of ‘This Old House’. We’ve all been very happy with the result. Also very happy just that the process is done. […]
A neighbor stopped by the other day to take a garden tour. While we were walking through the trails she asked the secret to our gardening. I told her It’s easy to grow stuff, the challenge comes down to managing the dead stuff, not just weeds but the flowers and garden plants too.
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It’s early morning and I am released from my nightly captivity of the house, I leap onto the deck railing with the smooth viscosity of crude oil flowing uphill.
From my vantage point I survey the garden for the slightest movement.
My constantly twitching ears catch the faint rustling sound of a trespassing rodent looking for food in the undergrowth.
Like a shadow on the moon, a black form with no substance, I jump down and make my way along the hedgerow. The siren song of the starlings announces my presence.
Oblivious to the screaming birds my prey continues to forage in the grass for its morning grain. The breeze brings his blood scent to my nostrils. It sets my hunting instincts on fire.
I bend low, moving silently, closer to the rodent. Then I stop, still without sound. I deepen my crouch, the sinews of my rear haunches tightening with a need to strike like an over-wound clock.
With a single leap I dispense feline justice. My prey has no time to cry out.
The temptation to devour my victory is a strong one. But the apes have been good to me recently. I will leave this one for them on their living room carpet. Their screams of delight are reward enough.