When the Cat's Away

It was considerably warmer in the barn yesterday and it brought the mice out to play.  A section of thin rope (used when I have to collar a reluctant Sheila) hangs from a nail by the door.  Milking away, thinking good thoughts, I caught motion.  A mouse was climbing head first down the rope, would sit on the knot at the bottom, and climb back up again.  The little creature did this over and over, for no obvious reason other than fun.  Eventually it tired of that game and went on to walk the tightrope on the beams.

A burrow mate of Ruffles has made an appearance.  This mouse is tiny, with unusual squinty eyes.  Even the smallest mouse normally has bright round eyes; not this one.  Not quite blind, it must at least be nearsighted, as it does bump into corners as it dashes under the stand to get to the fallen grain.  Makes me think of "three blind mice" every time it pops up.

Irresistibly drawn by the sunshine, I started a book I was given some years ago, "A Recipe For Bees."  I'd picked it up at the time, read a few paragraphs without interest, and put it down.  It's been sitting in my bedroom, accusing me as I walked by, all this time.  I must have been in a different frame of mind back then, as yesterday I could relate to the story and the characters and lost myself for nearly the rest of the day.  Funny how that happens.

There was a mackerel sky at daybreak this morning, a unique formation of clouds.  Another name is buttermilk sky, and that made me think of the old Hoagy Carmichael song.  I'll probably be humming that all day.  That should override the current Hickory Dickory Dock.