Sunday June 20th 2017Tim
The Girl Cat
is adept around slaughtering the cute little Bunny type
Rabbits. There have been so many I've lost touch with
the body count. I use the word slaughter loosely, the
reality of the Bunny's death is probably more aptly
described as some kind of agonizing medieval ritual.
Sadly with the Artist away it's a ritual that occurs up
the stairs in the room where I sleep, a hallowed ground
in my view, rudely interrupted in the early hours by
what I can only describe as the dying bleat of a lamb.
But the Girl Cat seems to enjoy herself, regards it as
an opportunity to toughen me up, get me ready for the
front line at somewhere like Stalingrad. It's an
exhausting experience for me.
you, all very well the Girl Cat being cavalier and showing
off her handling of the Bunny type Rabbit inside the
domicile, it's when we confront the Big Rabbits outdoors
that she looks to me for support. My presence gives her a
sense of security, otherwise I suspect she's just a tad
nervous, pretends not to care that there's a Giant of the
Rabbit world nibbling the ornamentals not much more then ten
feet away from her. I am of course a complete gentleman, I
don't do things like sneer, or call her a sissy, some of
those Big Rabbits are larger than she is, and they do look
death before dishonor mean. Instead I politely suggest to
her that we advance slowly in unison and when the Big Rabbit
runs, we run after it. It's actually rather fun.