It’s Father’s Day. Mrs. Smith made pancakes and scrapple, which everyone ate with gusto. I had my customary fare of raw chicken livers, served at room temperature.
After breakfast, the Smiths left to visit Grandma and Grandpa. I decided to stay home and nap. Then I went outside and sat on the back porch for a while. Lovely day, really. The big old oak tree looked inviting, so I tried to climb it yet again. Made it about ten feet up, then ran out of gas.
When the Smiths returned Mrs. Smith had some pink and red roses. She put them in a vase while I watched.
The Blooms came to visit in the afternoon, all six of them. Mr. Smith fired up the grill out back and threw on some ribeyes. I waited patiently for some ribeye bits. I was not disappointed.
After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room. I sat with Catherine Bloom, my favorite. She had her stuffed friends, per usual: Mr. Fuzzums the bear, and Miss Kitty. I tried to be polite with them, but they did not reciprocate.
Catherine hugged me and whispered: “I love you, Harold.” I purred.
Molly sat at the piano and played Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations from memory. Not bad overall, but she missed a note in Variation 24. Shameful shit.
After the impromptu concert, Roderick and Molly went out to the porch. I joined them briefly. They started tickling one another and wound up rolling around in Mr. Smith’s bearberry patch. I went back inside and hung out some more with Catherine.
Honestly, I don’t know whether Roderick and Molly are a number or what. Human courtship is complicated. With cats it’s simple. When a Queen’s in heat, any Tom will do; when she’s not in heat, all the Toms can fuck right off.
All for now.
