Satchmo paces during the night. He goes from the bedroom window, to the kitchen window to the living room window. Every now and again he emits a howlmeow. He would love to answer the call of the outdoors. During the day he sits in front of the open window and inhales the scents on the wind. He itches in a way he cannot scratch. The young adult in him wants to walk the streets and rebel.
Pogo spends much of his time sleeping. He moves from his cube to the back of the chair to the wicker rocker. He does find time to indulge in his share of snorting at the window. Occasionally Pogo shoots up and takes off like a giant Schnauzer chases him. He whirls with his tail bristly and ears laid back, ready to obliterate the enemy. He darts by the fake mouse, pauses long enough to kill it with his lightning-fast, razor-sharp claws, and takes off. To cover the indiscretions, he finds an out-of -place-hair on his back to smooth. Then he slips into his dignified, older self and hunkers down to watch.
Seldom does the mood strike the boys at the same time. When it does, play usually evolves into semi-serious hair losing fights. I end up yelling at them to behave and one or both leaves the room.
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The last snowfall and the warmer temperatures combine to awaken my grass. Won't be long before it will need its first mowing.I feel the need to grow something this year. Not a garden by any means, though I have a fairly decent size yard for an apartment. I do not have the umph for a garden. A pot or two of tomatoes I could handle. The back porch gets good sun.
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Why do I exude energy some days and other days I can barely lift a finger?
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