Well, we misgaged that one. The Transplant Recipient Auxiliary seems to be hosting a “Glad You’re Finally Home” party. They chose tonight to allow my beloved and me sufficient time to rest-up.
Henry and Claudja are passing hors d’oeuvres: feather fondues, deep-fried lizard tails, and Popeye’s chicken. They’re being devoured like scurrying, curried mice.
The neighborhood canine elements are barking in want of pussy tails. But the Sabbath is hovering. Catfood isn’t kosher. They are simply following their favorite credo: “Don’t usurp someone elses’s dreams, find your own and start at the top.” But they digress.
Jon, however, is already in bed, planning his midnight snack.
And I am about to give out. Besides, I only stayed up to hear that oh-so nostalgic “Hawaii Five-O” theme. It warms my cockles every time.
Shalom. Woof. Groovy.
(Images: by Ignacio Goitia, 2015.)
TARTUFFE'S FOLLY, or Kind Words of Redemption for Our Dear Prometheus 