Low Pressure System

Sunday morning
low pressure system
only one eye open

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As least that’s how it felt this morning. 🙂

Except that our cat Pookie is part Energizer Bunny and part rooster, eager to be up and at’em as soon as the dawn expands into morning light — about 5:30 am these days. He never bothers dear hubby; I’m the one who should get up and give him his morning treat, then let him outside for a romp. If we’ve forgotten to shut the bedroom door he jumps on the bed and starts prodding me until I get up and humor him — or shut him out of the room.

I’m light-sensitive, too, and can’t sleep when it’s full daylight. Early morning’s a good time for blogging, so I’ll post this verse that dawned on me first thing this morning.

By now I have hundreds of haiku verses and plan to start posting again on Tree Top Haiku. I’m doing some setting up and have scheduled the first ones to appear May 1st.

Di di Mau

Enthusisatic Pup

We have a little puppy;
we call him Di di Mau.*
Always in a rush he is
to go somewhere, somehow.

He’ll tear around the table,
dash through an open door,
chase his tail, plague the cat.
Why don’t his feet get sore?

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*The Urban Dictionary says di di mau is a direct
translation from Vietnamese words “go, go quickly.”

The Last One Out

Apparently some study once showed that nicotine is ten times as addictive as heroin. It’s harder to quit smoking than it is to quit “crack.” Friday Fictioneers must be somewhere in the middle — it’s pretty hard to quit, too.

Every Wednesday, in the wee hours, the Blue Frog express chugs out of the station over at Word-shy Wisoff-Fields’ blog. This Inlinkz engine carries the precious prompt photo to some terrific, but ever-so-terse, writers. One by one they hitch their links to the express and off it goes around the globe collecting tales. To see all the links, go to Rochelle’s blog and click the blue frog under the prompt photo — which, by the way, belongs to Douglas MacIlroy and you may not use it without his permission.

I thought I had nothing to share this time around, and no time, either. But a few days ago I was reading about Compassion International worker Dan Woolley, who had the misfortune to spend three days trapped in his hotel lobby after Haiti was hit by a big earthquake. (The title of his book is UNSHAKEN.) Then yesterday thoughts started coming together, this story emerged, and I felt I should post it. Initially a longer and more detailed account but I managed to pare it down.

(Note: “Wings of a Dove” was a country-gospel song written by Bob Ferguson in 1958.)

Photo prompt Douglas M MacIlroy

The Last One Out

Ashton regained consciousness, remembered the hotel floor shaking, walls cracking. His head throbbed; dust gagged him. He shifted some, found one leg was pinned. He tried calling, only managed a squeak.

The ground trembled again. Aftershocks. Plaster crumbled; he prayed the ceiling a metre above him wouldn’t fall. His throat was a chalkpit.

Hours later he heard rustling. Rats? No. Somebody’s bird!

“M’aidez,” the myna squawked.

He grabbed it. Keep singing, sailor.

“M’aidez! M’aidez!” it screamed.

Two hours later help reached him. “We thought no one here survived. Haitian workers heard you calling.”

“On wings of a dove,” Ashton whispered.

Canada Beaver Tale

One morning a Calgary police officer was cycling along on his usual beat when he saw a middle-aged man walking down the street. The man was dressed like a lumberjack and waddling along the sidewalk behind him was this beaver, eh.

The policeman braked and got off his bike. “Excuse me, sir, but what’s with this beaver and why is it following you around?”

The lumberjack looked back at the beaver. “He’s my pal, eh. I’ve brought him along with me so he can see what the big city looks like. But he’s having a hard time keeping up.”

“Listen,” said the officer, “we can’t have wild animals roaming around like this here in the city. You should take him to the Zoo.”

“That might be a good idea,” the lumberjack replied. “Where can I find it?”

The policeman gave the lumberjack instructions on how to get to the Calgary Zoo. “You’ll have to take the bus from here, but watch out that beaver doesn’t bite anyone along the way, eh?”

“Don’t worry. He won’t bite anyone unless they’re made of wood.” He chuckled, then turned to the beaver. “Come on, pal. We’re going to the Zoo.”

The next morning the policeman was patrolling his beat when he saw the lumberjack again. This time he was going in the opposite direction — and again the beaver was waddling along behind him.

The officer stopped short. “Hey, mister. I thought you were going to take that animal to the zoo?”

“I did.” the lumberjack replied. “And my little pal liked it so well I decided today I’d take him to the Stampede.”

🙂

This tale derives from an old English joke I read in an old Friendship Book of Francis Gay.
Since it’s Canada Day tomorrow I’ll give it a little tweak and serve it up to you. They say beaver tales tails are very tasty. 🙂

 

Nature Makes Cats Too Smart

It’s time for another round of Friday Fictioneers, the delightful group hosted by our devoted and tactful host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to join in the fun, check out her blog and click the blue frog to add your own 100 words to the melee.

The picture today was donated by Dale Rogerson expressly for today’s prompt. The copyright belongs to her and you need her permission to borrow it. No doubt there’ll be many different tales spun out of this photo; I myself came up with two. I’ll go with my first idea, revised and hopefully clarified.

So, gentle readers, here’s another dose of Winnie’s wry wit and wisdom.

From their hotel window Winnie observed the commotion below. “It’s that irritating cat again. Up in that tree, smug as can be. Third time this week.”

Raylene and Winnie watched the crowd milling around. The owner wrung her hands; someone shouted orders; someone fetched a ladder. Perched on his branch Sir Whiskers blinked superciliously.

Winnie rolled her eyes. “Imagine bringing your cat on a holiday!”

“And it loves to lead a merry chase. Sir Whiskers seems to relish having everyone scrambling after him.” Raylene shook her head. “Nature shouldn’t make cats that smart.”

“Or people that dense.”

Panda and Her Sunbeam

True Love

A lone sunbeam darts
away from his fellows, sneaks
up the morning side of a house,
squeezes under the kitchen blind,
spreads himself on the floor and waits
for her, the cat with thick black
fur. She always finds him,
settles herself in his warmth and purrs,
blissful as he caresses her darkness-
until the sunbeam is dragged
back to join his fellows
rising higher in the sky.
Tomorrow, Love.