THINKING ABOUT SALMON

What a man wants to do on a day like today, is burrow deep under the cover with a passionate little minx who just wants to sleep and a teddy bear who likes to cause trouble. But I cannot. The teddy bear will just have to cause trouble on his own. For one thing, there is no passionate little minx. For another, I shall be heading off to my place of employ.

Actually, the teddy bear who likes to cause trouble might be well advised to not stir up anything, because when the humans leave for the day the senior roomie is in charge, that being my apartment mate's bear (ms. Bruin), who though she lives in the other room has exceptionally good hearing, and is very stern.
Henry (the trouble-causer) is scared of ms. Bruin.
As well he should be.


If there were a passionate little minx, she too would no doubt raise ms. Bruin's eyebrow. That's a bridge I'll cross if I come to it. It might require bribing with honey. Or salmon. Yes, salmon I should think.

I can picture the scene. My apartment mate shall come home, and after a minute or two in her room will come out and ask "Toad, why is my best friend in the whole wide world in a salmon-coma? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?!?"

I shall feign innocence. Don't know what you mean.

Then I'll gently remind her that single middle-aged men are known for their sedentary habits, and I cannot possibly keep track of her various animals coming or going, why it's hard enough keeping an eye on my own rowdy bunch, what with reading the Bible and practicing yoga and all that.
I've had a busy day, and I'm training to be a saint.
Women are too suspicious by a mile.
And bears like salmon.


Fresh salmon? Or smoked?
Maybe I should ask.



I don't like frigid mornings.




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