I woke up this morning with a firm resolve to write a book.  I went to the kitchen to start the coffee and said good morning to ‘Bushy Tail’.  Bushy Tail is a squirrel that has moved in and lives in the foyer, upstairs in the hallway.  My house has two apartments, up and down and I am missing a window pane which allows the squirrel easy access to visit my cat.  My first squirrel sighting was in my living room. The cat and squirrel sat shoulder to shoulder, looking out a window. Fast forward two weeks and  I have tired of the squirrel eating out of the live trap in the hallway and not tripping it. I have asked my pal Mike to re-calibrate the pressure or weight necessary for successful capture.  After finishing the last cup of coffee, I thought about the book I was considering. One needn’t be a trained observer to notice my ‘firm resolve’ had been reduced to ‘considering’.

 

“Had she any idea these would be her last words, she would have articulated her hatred for him in a stronger tone.  He shot her twice, once in the forehead and once in the heart.” As I broached the sacred realm of authorship with the perseverance of a warrior, my phone rang.  Twenty minutes later I was reading fascinating news on the internet about a Cambodian woman giving birth to thirteen children in one trip to the stirrups.  Further playing with my phone, Bushy Tail showed his face through the paneless door opening. I yelled for him to cease and desist, he smiled and jumped in my apartment, trotting into my dining room (he no longer ran).  I admonished the annoying rodent, gritting my teeth, “you little cock sucker. The only response to my assault was from my phone, “that language is not necessary,” verbally and typed. SIRI had joined Bushy Tail and the cat as those who shared my home, seemingly, with the joint mission of further complicating my life.

 

A children’s book, that’s the ticket, subject of course to a language check by my close friend SIRI.  “The cat cowered in the corner knowing the end was near, when Rick the Rat closed in on her with his sinister sneer.  Rick was three feet tall sitting on his haunches, drool dripping from his yellow teeth and for the very life of me I could not rhyme with haunches and neither could I teeth.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, clad as a musketeer high boots and all, sword drawn, he jumped up and slew the rat and down old Rick did fall. Listen up kids, you’ll never know when you’ll be slain, always brush your teeth before leaving home and walking down the lane.”

 

Sure it needs work, but it’s a first draft and I need to hire a top of the line artist. Besides I have to get up and fill the cat’s water bowl in the kitchen,  Bushy Tail’s distinct chattering tells me it is empty. I run the water until it’s quite cold, the way he likes it. I subserviently fill the water bowl and wonder when Bushy Tail will move and I will I  be delivered from this hell.

Bushy Tail

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