Dear Wigleaf:
   
One dark morning I'd like to make it down the hall without stepping on a cat. Themed cat beds keep arriving, new hurdles in Marshmallow and Berry Tart. My family says I don't like the cats. I like them fine. I hold them in regard, I say, which doesn't help my case. I like what they bring out in my children, what they offer our family. For me at this time, the relationship is not physical. The cats may have something yet to teach me.

Captain Waffles is a lady who despises hassles. Niblet is a boy afraid and a mindless hassler. He will lie against Waffles and set two straight paws near to her face. His confounded look is his excuse. What? Who? Me? Then—Paws in your face!

If a bed needs to be made, some scoop and toss a cat, which seems a bit rude. I prefer to raise one corner of the comforter slowly towards the ceiling, until gravity has shown the cat a certain and suitable exit.

In our home, a cat is a kitten or a catten. A parent is a mommen or a dadden. But a duck is a duckle, and a frog is a froglet. We had one froglet whose name was Froglet in the manner of a band whose first album is self-titled. Froglet died while we were away. Captain Waffles sat on top of his terrarium for days afterwards, looking down into the void for signs of life.

David Drury




- - -

Read DD's TWO STORIES.

W i g l e a f                05-15-20                                [home]