Good Intentions

I thought I was seeing a new species of bird.  It had the coloring and shape of the standard barn birds, but sported a huge mustache.  It sat quite awhile on the shelf so I got a really good look, but it took some time to see that the mustache was actually a beakful of Poppy wool.  It must be nesting season.  As this was a male bird, I imagine he was waiting for a lady bird to notice what a good provider he would be and choose him as a mate.

It might be nesting season for the birds.  For me, it is tax season.  Receipts and papers have been sorted and spread over the dining room table for a week.  Yesterday I jumped in with both feet and sharpened several pencils in readiness.  As long as I had the sharpener out, I might as well sharpen all the pencils in the house.  I didn't think it would take that long to hunt them down.  Sitting at the table to do some data entry at last, I noticed the hummingbird feeders were low.  I couldn't let those little beggars go hungry so got up to make some juice.  After filling the bottles out on the deck, it seemed necessary to water a few of the potted plants.  Feeding the hummers made me realize that I was hungry, so I made a sandwich.  Not wanting to get crumbs on those important papers, I sat in the living room and got interested in an episode of NCIS that I had seen many, many times before.  Maybe if I watched it again, there might be a different ending this time (it could happen) and it was only an hour show.  Omigosh, I remembered that, with rain predicted this week, I had to go to the feed store to stock goat chow.  After unloading the truck and back in the house, I got a phone call from my friend Linda with news about her new job and I wanted to hear all about it.  Before I knew it, it was time to put the kids to bed.  With the best of intentions, I didn't get very far with the tax stuff.  I don't know where time goes.

Last night I changed sheets from those cozy fleece to regular cotton.  The effect on Ralph was immediate and startling.  It was as if he'd been hit with a cattle prod.  As I was making the bed, he was attacking the sheets, pouncing and darting like a mad thing.  It only got worse as I tried to smooth them.  Bess and Celeste looked on.  He couldn't stop himself even when the blanket covered the offending sheets.  As I'd feared, my feet became a moving target when I got in bed.  I yelled.  Bess and I slept alone last night.