Hey, a talking cat visited the Pigsty last night. Beauregard by name. Poor guy. From the picture on his profile, his master really did a job on him. Shaved him to a crewcut except for a neck ruff and little Puss in Boots boots. But maybe he just noticed an advanced case of knots and gnarls.
Normally, pigs and cats don’t have much in common, know what I mean? We’re big, they’re little, we’re ugly, they’re cute. They’re lovable, we’re eatable – but in this case, it’s different. A talking cat! I feel validated and quite revived. Another animal who’s mastered English! I’ve always felt so alone.
I used to dream about finding the lost colony of talking pigs. They migrated, to Illinois I think, over a hundred fifty years ago but my family missed the boat. Or maybe they got lost on the Great Plains and ended up in San Francisco . Either way, I’ve been alone all these years. The only talking pig since my great uncle Freddy died.
Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with my personal problems. I’ve been pondering bird feeders this morning. Have you ever noticed that when the chickadees come the bird feeder people all gather around the window, going “Oh aren’t they cute! Put out some more seeds.” But when the grackles come to exactly the same feeder on exactly the same mission, it’s ” Get away you awful grackles – shoo!”
Why? because cute little chickadees need our loving care but ugly awful big grackles can take just care of themselves. Yet inside their little bird heads their little birdie thoughts are just the same – out lookin’ for some chow.
Now go apply this parable to your own life. I’ve got to go feed my chickadees and grackles.
By the way, I’ve been noticing piggish traits in several of the folks who drop by the Sty – glad to meet yuh!
Labels: Meaning of Things