In the morning, I find baby Wry Kracker lying beside his uncle, Rye Kracker, as Jim Slim Many Toes pads by.
Chicago, the calico, (yes, she was named for the Cubs) and Royce.
This is Pistol - my little Pistol-Yero!
Jim wonders how it is that Muzzy looks so much like a dog. Pistol says, "to hell with it all." Pistol is like that. He swears a lot.
My true buddy - Jim Slim Many Toes.
Jim is a housecat, but he likes to go outside, so sometimes I chaperone him. He does not want back in. He is taunting the cats who are still inside.
Chicago, the calico, (yes, she was named for the Cubs) and Royce.
This is Pistol - my little Pistol-Yero!
Jim wonders how it is that Muzzy looks so much like a dog. Pistol says, "to hell with it all." Pistol is like that. He swears a lot.
My true buddy - Jim Slim Many Toes.
Jim is a housecat, but he likes to go outside, so sometimes I chaperone him. He does not want back in. He is taunting the cats who are still inside.
4 comments:
'my pistol'- I beg to differ! LRH
Well then, LRH, whose Pistol would you say he is? Yours?
I will concede one point, just in case you misinterpret my words: if you are thinking of the usage of "my" as implying property ownership, then you are right. No one can own a cat. A cat owns him/herself.
If, however, you were thinking, as I was, of usage such as "my friend" say, or even "my daughter," wherein "my" does not imply ownership but rather a close bond, then Pistol is, indeed, "my Pistol."
Yes, he is! He is "my Pistol."
What was the "Well, hell" about? I don't get it O tired one.
When I first started, I was not able to make anything appear in the blog post, so, in frustration, I typed, "Well, hell." This appeared. I figured that I might as well leave it there.
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