augury doggerel

Monday, September 16, 2002

Telephoned Report

It is cold and raining again this morning. I wore my jacket today for the first time since spring. There are still a few snails in the long grass. They must be starting to wonder whether to hang about and enjoy the wet weather or to burrow down and hibernate. The sun is just coming up over the trees. A half-dozen black-and-white magpies are hopping across the grass on sharp claws.

But the cat has puked on the bed.

All things cat are my problem, perhaps even, although it remains unsaid, my fault. And so the telephoned cat-puke report to me at work, just to let me know that I've narrowly and unfairly escaped a puking of the cat.


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