A Cat's Take

[+ScroogieII]

You may question the hows and the whys and the wheres
Of how ScroogieII might have come to be
But ask them not of me
For answers will not come.

 

Though it's unlikely that anyone here may have noticed my absence following a short string of only 1533 consecutive days with posts, preceded by another string of 969 consecutive days, (the two broken by a single day, the infamous Groundspeak hiccup day of July 7, 2015), I thought perhaps I might check in and apprise all and sundry that "Rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated".

 

Today I could no longer help myself and got to thinking about the Waymarking People I know and how the community might well have found itself in the throes of despair in my absence (no humility to be found in any of the nooks and crannys of this room, it seems). It also caused me to remember that Christmas is coming fast upon us, and that I had more or less promised the group another Christmas tale this year (seeing as how I had dredged up the 2017 tale for 2018).

 

Soooo - I spent a couple of hours today and bashed together another tale - this one wholly unlike the previous one, and done with the aid of the resident philosopher, "The Pud" (short for Puddy Tat, as in "I Tought I Taw a Puddy Tat"), AKA the cat who deigns to allow me to live with her. The story which the poem eventually gets around to telling is true - we actually did that!!

 

Which brings me around to saying that I'm giving to you, as an early Christmas present, the following poem, because it came together much quicker than I had imagined it would and, though it's still unpolished, I kinda like the way it came out. It's now yours to critique, perhaps even to enjoy. It's still early - mebbe I'll find the energy to bash together a better one before the Yule Season should end.
Keith

 

NB - Don't anybody try writing me. Obviously, my Email addy has changed. My profile page message will find me, though.

 

A Cat's Take On The really IMPORTANT Aspects Of Life

 

While my Waymark career has been somewhat curtailed
I'll here say it's not been completely derailed.
The Waymarks may come yet though not as before
As churning them out has become quite a chore.

 

The ache in my wrist now will ne'er go away
And most days I can't think of what thing to say.
The tools of our trade, WORDS, no longer my friends
Now flutter away and will not make amends.

 

A year ago now I had promised I'd write
A new and fresh missive with hopes to delight.
So now at the keyboard I struggle to find
The phrases and terms that I hope come to mind.

 

"Now how should we do this?" I implore of the cat
Who half on the keyboard was leisurely sat.
"This year should the story be cheery and bright
Or more on the dark side engendering fright?"

 

She said she'd get back to me soon as she could
That I must be patient as cat's minions should.
For now she was fully engaged in her work
Considering tending to me not a perk.

 

At length she returned a considered reply,
Reclined on the desk with me fixed in her eye.
Quite calm and restrained, and with nary a blink
She yawned and then stretched, saying "Here's what I think.

 

The devil inside me says go for the throat
And make them all wish they had not sailed this boat;
His counterpart, 'Angel', however, does wish
That we should present a more palatable dish.

 

That which one would win is a problem, 'tis true
While 'Angel' might vanquish, the devil may coup.
I really don't care as it's time for my nap
And now you're obliged to provide me a lap.

 

I'll leave you with this, though, I see you're in need
And this ragged poem I don't wish to impede.
While spinning your yarns, see whatever you do
Don't tell that sad story we both know you'll rue".

 

Then she drifted to sleep, I could tell by her snore
But it very soon irked me: she'd left me a chore.
I mused upon which tale she'd softly alluded
A few moments thought, though, were quickly concluded.

 

It hit me which story was not to be told
Its telling, for readers, would surely be gold.
It seems that yours truly was reared without shame
For here's now the tale, I accept all the blame:

 

Up the hill a few miles from our onetime abode
Stood a place full with books and with each a bar code
From which we had taken some titles on loan
Returning them promptly, thereby to atone.

 

When notified later of books overdue
A library trip now might give us a clue
To how it may be that these books went astray;
Our handling of said books we might then relay.

 

'Twas explained to the lady, throughout quite composed
"The books were returned on a day you were closed."
We'd placed them with care in the drop at the street
"The one that's all new, quite shiny and neat".

 

She: "A bookdrop that's new comes as true news to me!
So let us withdraw so the 'bookdrop' we'll see."
The object in question was then pointed out
Which quickly evoked both a gasp and a shout.

 

She gathered herself, then she spoke, not with glee
"A 'bookdrop' that's NOT, as quite soon you shall see.
The container was placed by the town, don't confuse
It was placed not for books, but collecting REFUSE!"

 

Edited January 13, 2021 by ScroogieII

[+elyob]

Merry Christmas!

 

[401Photos]

Oooops!

Thanks for baring your beguiling pail fail tale.

 

 

---j

[wayfrog]

Merry Christmas!

[+ScroogieII]

1 hour ago, T0SHEA said:

How is the Girly doing? Last time I saw her she looked really thin. Is she still on the diet?

 

She's put on a bit of weight - either I'm too much of a soft touch or she's too good at making me advance her feeding time. She's not a "Fat Cat" yet but will be if I can't reign in her constant demands for more food. Some days she's yelling for more just 2 hours after feeding.

I tried mixing cheaper food with her regular fare, which she didn't like at all so I stopped that.