As requested by “Meow Keela,” we humbly present a drawing of the child who sometimes thinks she is a cat! We (that is, my Friend and I–Wallie can’t draw to save him) are somewhat ashamed that this young girl may or may not look two years old. Perhaps this is a “Meow” of the future.
Wallie, my Friend, and I are delighted to announce the publication of one of our very own short stories. And from the perspective of dotty hopefuls, with all the clarity we can manage for being too excited to talk, let alone write with good manners, we wish to share our joy with you via the following shameless promotion.
Yesterday, the Imp and I read a most provocative post prompt. The “Brand New You, Effective Tomorrow,” was very interesting to me—I have a secret itch to be the hula hoop artist in Cirque du Soleil—but Wallie was indignant. He couldn’t think of anyone he would rather be.
He told my friend in Impish (the language of the Imps) that he wouldn’t be anyone with less than eight arms and six eyes. I don’t know why he didn’t throw in two heads. But he was very adamant, and that was that.
Once again Wallie the Imp and I have made a desperate plunge. We have attempted, not for the first time, to complete a “story” in two hundred words, give or take ten, for last week’s “Flash! Friday” prompt. The requisite location is theatre and the photo prompt is a nineteenth-century daguerrotype. And of course, my Imp of the Perverse was immediately set to write something (anything) relating to Edgar Allan Poe’s own affection for and relation to, theatre. His mother, Elizabeth Poe, was an actress of remarkable ability (his father’s talent is occasionally disputed), and it is little wonder that in his own early years he expressed an interest in his parents’ profession.
It’s one of those days. A phone call (or none). A letter. A cloud over the tree. Wallie the Imp and I are not our usual cheerful selves. And as usual, when no spoken word can work out the knots in a melancholy mood, the written word sometimes comes through just right. It’s time for contemplation, an apocalypse, a woman not of this world and a man who very much is. It’s time for a little low music.
Today’s prompt posed a difficult challenge. My Friend and I were entirely stumped to reveal the best advice we had ever been given. My Imp came to the rescue. He told us he remembered an episode from the ancient days, when an acquaintance of his was charged with looking after someone else’s baby for an indefinite period of time. At that time, the sympathy and encouragement of an older person proved invaluable.
Also, please excuse the quotes–old habits die hard.