The last time

“I’m trying to think,” he said. He leaned back in the battered wooden rocking chair that occupied his front porch, settling in to tell me a story. “When was the last time I saw that noisy dad-gum cougar up in the hills?”

He fiddled with his pipe and struck a big kitchen match. “Must have been ’bout five years ago, at least. I was up on Old Baldy hunting deer and I heard him yowling and growling. Caught a glimpse of him up in those rocks where he had his den. Gray haired as I am, that old cat. Looked like my granddaddy.”

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Cat Radar

The cat is now home with me, her occasional companion. She was actually subdued on the long drive and hardly complained about it. Her cat radar for cat people works well. She rushes to greet anyone who looks cat friendly and will sit in any welcoming lap for as long as possible. If her cat radar says, hmmm, not a cat person, she retires to a warm spot out of public view.

Since the last time she lived in this house for a while, I’ve added on a new room. She loves to sit in the new window and watch the life outside.

Cat

The cat is moving in with me. This happens from time to time. The cat never comments on it once the move is complete. She comments plenty during the drive from one place to another. She yowls the whole damn way. Yowls loud. We tried tranquilizers and it didn’t help.

The cat person is in the photo. I’m not the cat person. But I can live with the cat when circumstances demand it.

Sigh. I think I need a better vacuum cleaner before the hair generating device arrives.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “cat” or on some topic the photo suggests to you.

Leeches

“Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to tally the leeches in the Grand Canyon.” The head of the insect inventory project smiled, enjoying his own joke. The man was so skinny that if he shifted his weight from one leg to another, his pants might slide right off his hips, but he had the attention of every entomologist in the room. They were vying for the choice insects.

Marge wanted grasshoppers. She wanted to stay on the surface, in the grass, on dry ground, so she listened carefully for the opportunity to snatch up the grasshopper count. The fellow next to her, whose sinus congestion verged on gross, told her he wanted ticks. She nodded knowingly, as if . . .

No big deal

I’m not much of a dog person. This is really no big deal. I’m not much on pets in general, it isn’t like I single out dogs.

But dogs notice this. And they seem to feel compelled to show me the error of my ways by being extra friendly. Surely the bad vibes I’m sending off could be reversed by the right dog licking my fingers and wagging her tail, right? Some sort of dog psychology takes over that sends them my way to win me over to the true path. Well, . . .

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Quail

I hear a deep throated clucking outside my window. It’s either a roadrunner or a quail; sufficiently unusual to get me from my chair to the window to look.

Four large quail are strolling down the alley. They hide out for a while under a neighbors bush, but are soon on the move again, tiptoeing down the asphalt.

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Nightmares

Remember the wolfman? Unless you are well up in the double digits or a fan of really old movies, you may not. The wolfman gave me nightmares. The first I ever remember having. Big metal ants in a playground don’t scare me a bit. They just make me want to crawl on and go for an ant ride. But the ants don’t look alive. The wolfman did. Sort of. Not by the standards of today’s special effects, but alive enough for my immature mind to accept as real. A teeny live spider is much scarier than a huge T-Rex with foot-long teeth at the museum. (Unless you’re Ben Stiller.) So when I saw the . . .

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Biddy

The biddy down the hall
Is really off her rocker
9-1-1 is her favorite call
To report an imaginary stalker

Some of us other old gals
Have searched the place for men
Even checked with other pals
And we just can’t find a way to sin

But the cop who comes by
To soothe and calm the crazy coot
Makes everyone heave a sigh
Maybe I’ll report a stalker on a toot

After learning from Going like Sixty that a biddy is a chicken, I invite you to write your first 50 words on the topic “biddy” in a comment.

The Secret Life of Bees

There’s a secret in the bee world, and it ain’t from the novel The Secret Life of Bees. Nope, this secret has to do with the catastrophic loss of bees that we are seeing right now. Some famous person, don’t remember who, said that if all the bees died, life on earth would end within 4 years. I’ve only seen a few bees in my garden this spring and I gotta tell you, if you see a bee, throw it a party and give it a kiss, because it needs love. You’ll have a happy bee, and lips just like Angelina Jolie.

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Hummers

The hummingbirds are back. Little hummers come to the window and check out the decal for the house’s alarm system, thinking it might be food. Nope. Sorry. No feeder yet this year due to the dustification, bangification, constructification of the only shady window. But come back later, you’ll find food.

Our hummingbirds aren’t the thrillingly beautiful type. Just plain little brown dudes and dudettes. No green or ruby throats to flash us voyeurs. But . . .

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