From the Ground Up
Sometimes
they fill the air with noise, as if they were lonely. They fret with little
black things, peering above toward the loud boxes, transfixed as if a mouse was
about to dart from them. They must really need practice as I always find one or
the other sitting by those gadgets.
They
pollute the whole house with odious odors from cans that spit clouds of
offensive junk. I do wonder what they believe they will kill with those. They
miss the worst and target the best. The carpets are littered with crunchy
tidbits and parts of rolly pollies or crickets, but that one wasp is still
trying to escape through the blinds, and the fleas are multiplying for the end
of this crazy world.
Well,
the roaches will eventually inherit the leftovers from the looks of the compost
or whatever that mound is in the corner of the yard. I regularly patrol all
sides for rodents that have laughed at those silly traps (no matter the effort)
for the clever plastic boxes, the little poison pellets, or the clang of metal
jaws. There seems to be a clever species to resist any of mankind's inventions.
My
nostrils are desiccated by the puffing thing in the corner. It permeates all
breathing space with noxious gas on a regular basis like a stinking wind in my
hair. The machine that spits cold down upon us can roar and whir in such
obnoxious sessions. I'd rather be hot and slovenly in a dark corner than suffer
the frigid drafts that tease me bones and cramp me muscles.
In
winter they heat this place beyond comfort. Only the closets offer relief, but
all those smelly shoes and perfumy things clutter the same space, so forget
that zone. Lay low and don't exert yourself, that's about all one can do, day
or night, of course.
Well
at least what the moths and weevils have left will end up as compost or mouse
poop, somewhere. Nature has a way of compensating for everything, and I can
find plenty to eat, after all. It's all a game, isn't it?
I
can't complain too much, they let me stay here for free, so I simply sigh,
glare or walk away. But most of the time I take advantage of the soft furniture
in my own relaxed style. I luxuriously stretch on the couch and blend in with
the décor, not to bother anyone, my coat matches the microplush of the divan,
how convenient!
It's
our special symbiosis that works best; it’s because my needs are so simple.
They forget about me until dinner time. Some of the stuff she cooks really
smells great, but her taste for veggies irritates me. She insists in offering
me tasteless morsels of things not known in nature. Well, not my nature
anyway.
After
supper they relax in the front room. That's what they think they are doing.
Relaxing. They yell, bark, burst and bellow at each other over some box games
and lights. It tires me just to avoid curses and objects flying across rooms.
I'm glad I'm not involved. I know all the nearest hiding places where I can
ignore all of them.
That's
my way. I'll try to eat when they finally sleep. I'll sniff their winds, listen
to their stomach rumblings to detect fragrant eggs, ‘pootin’ popcorn, or silent-but-greasy
goose fat farts.
Rumbling throats and flapping nostrils sing a
nightly serenade. When tractor trailers and rural equipment stop their daily
traffic, I can finally enjoy nature’s nightlife here.
The
kids aren't too bad. Well, except for the one who likes to dunk my head under water.
He'll leave me alone today. He's nursing a bad case of black eye. His younger
brother must have been adopted. He's the only sweet one in the family. He wants
to share his pickles or prunes with me, and he doesn't get mad when I turn up
my nose at that. I occasionally sit on his bed as he reads me a story. I'm
patient, he's dedicated; we'll survive.
He
brought home a new cat box from the yard sale next door. I hope that he learns
to empty it more often, before mold grows long grey hairs on those clumps. The
box of cat litter that came with it shows multiple cats. One resembles me like
a twin, all these silly ads are quaint, but personally, I prefer the sand below
the rosebushes ‘cause their dog hates
thorns. Meow!
