An English In Kentucky


















Sunday June 20th 2017Tim Candler9


     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.



       Mind 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.


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