An English In Kentucky



















November 13th 2009 - Friday

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    Miracle Mole traps have claimed zero moles, and from setting Miracle Mole traps I have a cut on my left hand suggesting moles have either developed some sort of drone technology or are in treaty talks with my right side.  

    This morning, while thoughts of a tetanus shot rebounded through remnants of the thing that is me,  I watched the Close Mockingbird drink dew from the gutter.  His tail was a yard from my head and at that distance my vision is still good.  I could see his tail feathers as though I held them in my hand.  In a moment of inspiration I counted them.   Then he turned to look at me.  His expression accusing and sullen.  That same look the Grey Cat gives me when I catch him using the cat-flap. 



    Dignity is precious and lapses of dignity when seen by others are revealing of personality.  Clearly the Grey Cat considers his cat-flap a guilty secret.  He'll wail by a closed door, damage wood with his claws and when the kitchen door is opened for him he sees it as a victory to be proud of.  But catch him using his cat-flap and he skulks, guilt ridden toward his food bowl where he can then glare up at me in that accusing way.

    The reason the Close Mockingbird considers it weakness to drink from the gutter correlates with no understanding I have.  But were he to know that I have forgotten how many of his tail feathers I counted, he might now be laughing as he shares this news with any one who will listen. 

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tim candler

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