It all began with the squirrel. I don’t think Lucy Pussy has seen one before and she was most alarmed this morning when a squirrel appeared in the garden. The birds are one thing and produce much chattering and ducking as they fly in and out of the eaves. But a squirrel meant a large puffed up tail and much angst.
Meanwhile I was calling “Lucy! Lucy!” from the bathroom because there was a spider in the bath. She didn’t come which is not like her. “Lucy! Lucy!” I called. Eventually I had to go and carry her into the bath whereupon the spider rolled itself into a small black ball with no legs to be seen. Well clearly there is no sport to be had with a round black ball that doesn’t move. However, as she crept closer for a sniff a bit of web must have lingered and caught her ear so she backed up the bath trying to get away from it. I held her down. Turning on the tap gently made the spider unfurl its legs and scamper away which produced some interest from LP. But frankly not as much as I would have liked. Round one to the spider.
Now Lucy is scattering papers on the study floor and twanging an elastic band. I think she’s trying to make music. Perhaps it is Make me a Channel of your Peace?
I remember staying with the Franciscans at Alnmouth (or is it Alnwick?) back in 1971 and remarking to my hosts on the way Brother Cat was eating Brother Mouse on the lawn. As far as I recall I didn’t get a response that echoed the patripassian stance of Abelard with regard to the rabbit in Helen Waddell’s novel.
Perhaps her elastic band twanging is her equivalent of playing a harp.
Just be thankful she doesn’t sing too.
She doesn’t does she?
Not exactly singing, no. But she is trying to communicate something.
If Lucy has turned Franciscan, then she won’t be playing “Make me a Channel of Your Peace.” Most Franciscans I know would rather never hear or sing it again.
(Uncle Al, it’s Alnmouth.)
Thank you for that clarification. Regardless of the name the conventual mass set against the splendour of the North Sea was wonderful.