Linguine, and limburger cheese. blatham now smells like a deli, and all the neighborhood dogs are taking an unhealthy interest.
{sorry, my friend, I had to!
}
Pants being ripped to tatters, stark terror in his eyes, blatham claws at the south east window of Lola's salon.
Oh, sorry, those are my dogs, I believe. Helen invited me and The Puppies over here.
PUPPIES! That's enough! Settle! There, blatham, just calmly walk away. Do it confidently, but without sudden movement ... Oh, uhhh, and, avoid eye contact ... they think that means you want to play.
timber.
Camera closes on blatham's chest. Coat, shirt disappear and we see inside. The lungs with smoke curling and the heart with bulging full-blow steam whistle on top and a thousand legs running at a blur.
"I love the smell of liverwurst in the morning!" says jes. "Or is it evening? Or is it lasagna? Never mind, blatham's arrived! Time fer da party!"
Dogs? And I a Bunny? EEEEEEEEEK!
Bunny's and Blatham's hearts race on their weeny little legses as one - until Bunny begins to recall that, so far, Timber has been a bird of his word......c'mon Blatham, Timber - let's get to meet these "puppies" - then I need a stiff drink..
Awwwww - nice dogs - cute li'l wet noses....wagging tails - it's ok!
Boys - what will you have to drink?
Bailiffs, taking a jet? Wha....!
I need a brownie, and fast....
blatham doesn't, as it happens, need a brownie, though he did earlier. Post-brownie, suddenly, there were dogs. Now blatham is sensitive enough to pick up thoughtwaves from Alpha Centauri. He shakily hands Withers what remains of his coat. He decides not to talk to anyone just yet, and steers his way to Lola's grand where he sits and begins to play.
Missiissippi blues fall off the keys, slow and steady. Timber pulls up a chair and plugs in his bass as mikey tests the drum pedal and dlowan pulls a little glass bottle from her shirt pocket and slides it down the strings of her guitar. One after another, they fall in together, and everywhere around the room, feet start moving. Nothing like some slow sexy Mississippi blues to give an evening a backbone.
Smiles are exchanged....a nod to the side...Trevor, scotch in one hand, cigar in the other, steps up the microphone. It's a ragged voice.
Hey
This is hip, pretty baby
This is hip, pretty baby
This is hip, pretty baby
Mess around and
fell in love
You call me on your telephone
You want me to
take you for a ride
This is hip, pretty baby
This is hip, pretty baby
This is hip, pretty baby
Mess around
and fell in love
Right
<timber's dogs contribute enthusistic background harmony>
My cats THINK they can sing!
The canine harmony sounds vaguely like "We want more liver!" Withers brings out tray after tray of paté and crackers. The dogs quiet down while eating. Tails wag, creating a danger zone for anything about two feet high or so. Vases fly off coffee tables, magazines go helter-skelter, and drinks tumble to the Oriental rug.
Fifi runs in, with a rag and a broom. "Silly chiens!" she cries. "I washed le floor, and now it is a ruin! Withers, we must bring the liver to le kitchen!"
Dogs follow Fifi as she grabs the tray and brings it to the next room, where the cook is preparing an enormous omelette with a hangover remedy punch on the side.
My cats sing AND dance ~ just swish and flick ~ Ms Bella looks at me when not happy with her food and says "Nooooooooo" with her crack-the-crystal
soprano voice ~ the entire menagerie staring as hair stands straight up toward the ceiling.
Cute and adorable, conversing done only when I'm not at home , the lttle imps turning off security system. How do I know? Ms. Bell of course.
With Fifi in charge of the dogs and singing cats, Lola decides to slip out for a bit. She puts on her warmest wool coat, scarf, hat and gloves, over which Lola throws a rain pancho thing, because it's cold and rainy today.
As she walks along MacDougall Street, she is happy to be in New York. Even though it's cold and drizzly, it's still a wonderful city. So full of life. Lola turns on W. 4th street and walks another block past Cornelia. There are small record shops, shoe stores and thrift shops for the young college students and high school kids that come in on the week ends to hang out in the Village. She walks past t-shirt shops, poster and memorabilia shops, and a couple of restaurants to the corner of Jones St. and W. 4th. Turning in there, and walking up one flight of stairs, Lola reaches into her pocket and takes out her key to Trevor's apartment. Smiling she breaths a sigh of enjoyment as she lets herself inside the warm, cozy living space. While small, the apartment is charming and has windows overlooking the busy street below. It smells of cigarette smoke.......an addiction of Trevor's that Lola both loves and wishes he didn't have. Such a warm, comfortable, familiar smell.......Lola picks up a t-shirt Trevor has thrown over the back of a chair, and buries her face in it, enjoying the strong aroma of the man. The smell brings back strong, pleasant and long ago memories of Lola's father.
Taking off her coat, Lola puts on a pot of coffee and pours a cup. Another Trevor addiction she has come to love. Looking around, Lola sees that Trevor has been writing........he's funny, he never tells when he is working on something and Lola isn't sure why he is so hesitant to let her know. Still, eventually he always shares it with her.........and she loves to talk to him about his work. It's funny how neat Trevor is at his desk. This is unlike Lola who keeps a very private little study behind her bedroom which is the only place in which Lola allows herself to truly let go and make a mess. Trevor's apartment is the opposite, lived in all over, but immaculate around his working space. Still he's gotten into something far enough, Lola can see, that he has spread a few papers around, with a few books on the floor here and there. The books are open and lying face down.
Lola can see the spaces in the shelves where the books have been. The book shelves line the exposed brick wall which covers the entire expanse of the apartment living room and down the hall to Trevor's bed.
Suddenly Lola feels sleepy and climbs into the unmade bed. It's too inviting to resist. Trevor's scent again. Ummmm.............
Good morning everyone...........any more talking cats or biting dogs about to liven up the day?
Good morning Lola ~
Cats are pretty quiet today after New Years festivities and gathering with neighborhood wildlife/ all snuggled warm and cozy by the fireplace.
Ms. Bell not saying where she was all morning/ me calling her indoors/ never leaving the menagerie outside when I'm going out.
Will be gone most of the day/errands/ and checking out Boreal Ridge.
Stradee dons ski cloths, boots, and gloves for a drive toward higher elevations visiting friends intent on giving her snowboard lessons.
Lola, you're welcome to join us....
Thanks Stradee, but I have to do some.........uh...uh.......some.....I have to do some.........work. Thanks, I would love to join you, but I can't have everything I want, unfortunately, just most of it.
Wow, LOLA! The steam is rising up out of this public library computer, even! Wooo-hooooo! You are a woman after my own sensibilities - yee ha! Please, write us again just how that - er - work- is coming along....
cobalt
Sunning herself in the 71 degree balmy weather...
