Mr. Mu Takes His Constitutional

At first, the bustle and the accompanying tinkle as he hurries to the front of his house and the tiny bell in his collar announces his stately advance. Then he waits. As he waits, at the screen door, he casually climbs with his hands on the tightly woven net of metallically interconnected strands which allow the breeze to ventilate his residence but prevent those without the ability to turn a door handle their desired egress. When his claws become stuck in the screen, as they often do, he takes the opportunity to do some unplanned arm stretches while the nearest human hurries to the door and frees his paws from their temporary prison. The door is opened for him, and he goes out.

It’s good to be out, he thinks, the dogs are still back in there. They can’t get out. He briefly stretches and then merely sits, just beyond the threshold of the closed screen door, purely to experience the joy that comes with canines being so close, yet unable to get to you. (The fact that, in most cases, they just want to smell your bum does not diminish this feeling of unbridled freedom coupled with a devastating sense of “Stick that up your arse, you smelly dumb creatures!”) At length, he moves off.

He takes a turn about his front yard, noting the absence of the weirdo grey stranger cat. It sometimes lurks under his car. He congratulates himself on his mastery of all of the elements in his front yard: the weather itself belongs to him. He explores the depths in the shadows beneath the hedge and enjoys the sensation of the outside air upon his magnificent tiger patterned fur coat.

Under his paws he notes a warm feeling and he picks out a patch of pathway bathed in sunshine fit for him to recline upon. In this position a surge of powerful calm courses through him. It’s very comfy indeed. He’ll stay here for some time. He rolls and extend his arms and legs to their fullest. He turns and writhes and enjoys himself. When his eyes start to close he rouses himself, stands up straight, and confidently walks in the direction of his footpath, in front of his house. He is now in full sun, and he crouches with an air of nonchalance, before yawning and relaxing into an elegant lean. Humans walking past admire his perfection. Comments are made. A schoolgirl with her mother pats his chest. A man, hurrying with a briefcase under one arm, stops to say hello. Children and adults point from cars as they go past. He yawns with satisfaction.

In one movement, the deft adroitness of a super spy, he is up again, and sauntering off in the direction of his house. He walks past the hedge and the little flowers; he crosses his soft green grass, feeling a sight tingle as the moist surface meets his hot paw pads. He’s back on his veranda, and he climbs up onto his chair. A breeze is just starting to waft in his direction as he curls up on his cushion. The breath is light as he eases into a sleep he so richly deserves.

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Published in: on April 21, 2010 at 7:29 pm  Leave a Comment  
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