Ferret comes up on the deck at night and snakes along the walls, looking in the glass doors trying to figure out why he can't go any further inward than whatever glass doors are and if the movement behind them is movement at all, or any threat, before he snacks on the cat's leftovers. His ears are pointed triangles, like the motions of his head in trying to digest what goes on in rooms, for these are surely the first rooms he has ever seen, and a very ponderous wild animal puzzle, though the deck with a hole in it (where the rock comes up through) gives him easy access from the ground to food right out there for the taking. And what could he possibly be thinking about those odd silhouettes he sees shifting about the better to watch him through the big panes of what he has no idea is glass? He is the color of butterscotch and as smooth in his movements; looks like a long, soft taffy without the wrapping. Softness moving through the softer night.
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
MR. BUTTERSCOTCH
Ferret comes up on the deck at night and snakes along the walls, looking in the glass doors trying to figure out why he can't go any further inward than whatever glass doors are and if the movement behind them is movement at all, or any threat, before he snacks on the cat's leftovers. His ears are pointed triangles, like the motions of his head in trying to digest what goes on in rooms, for these are surely the first rooms he has ever seen, and a very ponderous wild animal puzzle, though the deck with a hole in it (where the rock comes up through) gives him easy access from the ground to food right out there for the taking. And what could he possibly be thinking about those odd silhouettes he sees shifting about the better to watch him through the big panes of what he has no idea is glass? He is the color of butterscotch and as smooth in his movements; looks like a long, soft taffy without the wrapping. Softness moving through the softer night.
Ferret comes up on the deck at night and snakes along the walls, looking in the glass doors trying to figure out why he can't go any further inward than whatever glass doors are and if the movement behind them is movement at all, or any threat, before he snacks on the cat's leftovers. His ears are pointed triangles, like the motions of his head in trying to digest what goes on in rooms, for these are surely the first rooms he has ever seen, and a very ponderous wild animal puzzle, though the deck with a hole in it (where the rock comes up through) gives him easy access from the ground to food right out there for the taking. And what could he possibly be thinking about those odd silhouettes he sees shifting about the better to watch him through the big panes of what he has no idea is glass? He is the color of butterscotch and as smooth in his movements; looks like a long, soft taffy without the wrapping. Softness moving through the softer night.
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