My, my, what a nice sunny day. I would like to repeat that. What a nice sunny day. Wish all days were this sunny and nice. Of course, rainy days are nice too. It’s those cold, cold, and I’m talking cold here, cold days of winter that aren’t so nice. That’s why we save up our nuts and other stuff and put them away for winter. So we don’t have to go outside. But a day like this. It’s really nice. Mrs. Squirrel and I got up early this morning. We looked out at the world in all its glory and we said, “It’s going to be a nice day.” And here it is. Nice.
Cows. Cattle. What’s that all about? They come in for their feeding, then they go back out to the pasture. That’s a cow for you. Pretty soon they’re hanging out with a bull. What happens next ain’t a lot of bull.
Guess that’s why the bulls in the rodeo and the bullring are mad. They’re lifelong bachelors. They don’t get to hang out a lot with cows. It’s a lonely life for a bull who has to fight a matador and chase around with a cowboy on his back. Just one date is all the fellow asks. Just one date. He’ll be a happy fellow. At least, for a day or so. And that is all any bull can ask.
Like “A Bob Crachit Christmas”, I posted this one back in December, 2013. Even though Christmas has passed, I thought this would be a nice reminder. Hope you enjoy as much as I did writing it.
Three cats under the Christmas tree
Buster, Sister, Mama Peaches
All purring their yuletide carols
On this the night before Christmas.
They’ve kneaded their joy, now they rest
Curled up next to tinsel and snow,
Dreaming their dreams of Santa Paws
Meowing his jolly ho-ho-ho,
Hoping for some kitty-katnip
And a ball of yarn for their play.
Maybe a mouse or even two.
They dream and sleep this night away
But soon will come the Christmas morn
And all will be right with these three
For they will wake with a good stretch
And a big yawn under that tree
After a game of give-and-take.
They’ll hurry for their bowls of food
And munch and crunch and lick their paws
Clean and they’ll be in the best of moods.
Then they’re off for the Big Outside.
But before they rush out they take
One last turn ‘round the Christmas tree
Just so the three can celebrate
How long long ago a Babe
In a manger lay in the cold
Without a blanket or cover,
And no more than a few hours old,
When one scrawny and feral cat
Crawled in and curled about the Child
And kept the Baby warm that night.
Let Him sleep with a sweet, sweet smile.
The morning came, the sun did rise
Up east and warmed the Child below
While the cat slinked away, no more
To be seen but all the cats know:
How that Cat gave all that he had
Enough to keep away the freeze.
So now in heaven there’s a Cat
That never has to scratch for fleas.
As our three cats go out to roam
This Christmas day they take delight.
It was one of them, some Unknown
Company to Jesus that night.
You don’t have a cat. Lucky you. This is what you have to put up with if you do.
“What are you doing with that towel?” I ask.
Little Bear is the cat who lives at our house. She’s sitting on a white towel. “Who do you think you are? Get out of my face,” L B says to me. She will be upset if I say she’s my cat. That’s nonsense as far as she is concerned. “Nobody owns me,” she says, “and don’t you forget it.” Ssssh, don’t tell her I said this. She’s my cat whether she likes it or not.
“Look we need to talk,” I say to L B.
“Talk, talk, talk, that’s all you do.”
“That towel is mine.”
“No big deal. Let’s just say that I’m borrowing it for a while.”
“It was nice and clean. Now you made it dirty.”
“Yes. What of it.” That is not a question. It’s a challenge. Then she gives me that face. You cat people know what face I’m talking about. That face that says she’s smarter than me and I had better watch out.
I don’t want to get in any deeper. I’ve been there before and let’s just say it isn’t pleasant. I leave her be, knowing I had better mind my p’s-and-q’s, or I will be in trouble.
Non-cat owners, see what I mean. Uh-oh, I got to go. Here she comes and she’ll be reading this. She’s a speed reader too.
Henry noticed the spider’s web on his way to the barn. Then he noticed the spider. It wasn’t poisonous. At least, Henry didn’t think so. He continued on his way to the barn, then returned to the house sometime later. On his trek to the house, he again noticed the spider and her web. For some reason, he stopped and watched the spider. The spider seemed to dance across space as she knitted her web. It came to Henry that maybe, just maybe he could compose a piece based on the dance of the spider. He brought out his composition pad from his study and began to doodle musical notes. Soon he had pages of the notes. He went inside and sat down at his piano. His fingers struck the notes on his pad. Outside the spider listened intently as she continued her dance to the music Henry played.