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Dove Tale Writers have banded together because we are addicted. Our drug is the written word. In the privacy of our own psyches, we write about our loves, our demons. We write about our joys, our scars. We write about the places we have been, and the places we hope to go. As one of our Dove Tale authors writes, "There will always be stones to turn and stories to write."
4 comments:
Very funny, Larry. If I were quick witted, I'd think of another story to match that.... but hell.... I'm not quick witted....
Anyone else there is DT bloggerland?
Well, just so you know, Larry didn't write that story. Wishes he did. He copped it off some website, can't remember where now.
But it is a good story. In fact, it's two stories! How marvellous is that? A story within a story in just a few short lines.
Larry may be quick-witted, but only on paper (or electronic media maybe) but when it comes to repartee and badinage he's just a plodder.
w.t. has been trying to come up with something to play into that el perfecto short story. It's like the cat that walks alone. It stands alone. What else can touch it? Even quick wittedness weakens and withers in front of it.
Talking about cats. That Yona of mine turned escape artist. Last night, about to crash into bed, zonked, I noticed that it was too quiet. "Where's that cat?" I asked Simon. Having coveted the best spot on the bed, he stretched comfortably and just sighed. So I called and called and checked everywhere in the house, even the dryer. No Yona. I realized that she must've slipped outside when
Simon and I went for our bedtime walk. No other explanation. Yona's favourite time is bedtime, when she playfully attacks Simon and me, jumping at each movement, until she tires and cuddles up to her dog. So I pulled on my sweats again, and a sweater, my socks my boots, my coat, and went out to call and check around the house. You know how deep that snow is? I sunk in to my knees going around to the back. I huffed and puffed and called. Suddenly there was a loud, troubled meow. I followed the sound. I stood and listened. and there it was again, that meow. I found him behind the fence of a corner unit accross from my yard. I crawled to the fence door, it wouldn't open. It was past midnight. No time to call on neighbours. Yona looked at me pathetically through the slats, "Get me out, I'm cold!" "Well, how did you get in there, turkey!" What you mean, running away from home, anyhow?" I looked for a foothold to climb the fence, when Yona lightely jumped up and on the fence. He let me pick him up and carry him home. Out of breath and weak from worry, I sunk to the ground and tried to recover. Yona looked down at me dismally, and brought me his favourite toy on a string, "What's the matter, aren't you going to play with me?"
I did. 15 Minuts later I crawled in behind Simon and Yona settled between his paws. The Sandman came, and soon the three of us were snoring away.
Sorry for alternating he and she. Having a hard time switching to he for my male cat. Aries was a she.
w.t.
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