bentenlaughing

Queen and Cat Prologue: When Queen finds a small dint in her crown she momentarily loses a sense of her identity and then she asks: Who am I not? Poor Cat has had a lapse of common sense by sleeping on Queen's Crown! Queen and Cat have a lot to learn about seeing things as they are. *** After examining her face in the mirror, Queen raised her hand to her head to adjust her crown. “ My Crown!” She exclaimed. “It seems to have a dint in it?” Cat let one eyelid shut, quickly snapped the other with its camera-lens-like shutter and fell into a  catnap and purred...to himself…or so he thought… "A Queen with a dint in her crown just isn’t a Queen anymore". Cat stretched a grin from ear to ear and yawned – and, with a relaxed gesture of his gartered  right forepaw tucked it under his chin and purred. Queen snapped. “Perhaps Cat sat on it! Perhaps Cat’s stolen my identity and has hidden it  underneath his whiskers?” Cat’s eyes opened fast and then he sprang to his feet! Cat screec...

Claude de Grieff Claude de Grieff was no lap cat. Had Claude been warned to ‘Keep those claws to himself Claude' he might have acted like a lap cat; like an ordinary cat whose claws came out now and then but Claude always kept his paws to himself and his claws in.  Claude didn’t like sitting in one spot. Claude glanced sideways at the Goldfish Bowl like every other cat he knew would have. Like every cat that had stepped it out on this earth, Claude glanced sideways at the Goldfish Bowl but not when anyone was around.  Claude had perfected his purr with the intention that all the inhabitants of the house would deep breath along with him and the appearance of uninterrupted sleep would be assured. Claude became another  Claude. One who liked nothing better than to dream. 'Smaller than a mousy but much tastier than a horse'. He purred. Never, in fact, having eaten a horse he still thought of it. At midnight, to keep the old tummy from rumbling, I will just have to go fashioni...

The Buddha and the Duck A black crow is pecking at the pear tree. Oily winged it tears by to the gate post. Good – I think to myself. Time you left. A horse in the distance is chewing on grass and it’s swinging its tail and chasing flies away. I have built my nest by the dam and swim amongst the reeds and my favourite thing is sitting under the pear tree in MY spot. I am a wild duck. I like to sit under the branches of the pear tree but a branch above is worrying me. Each morning I hear it making a noise that says ‘You’ll have to find another place to sit’. The pear tree is talking to me and I must listen to what it says. I will leave my spot. I will not be happy to sit under the branch of the pear tree again until the branch falls, until it’s safe to return. Days and nights pass. My life has changed. I sit and watch until my eggs begin to hatch. The first shell cracks, then the next and the next… Wet wings unfurl, my ducklings scramble out of their shells and walk on shaky legs. So MA...