Margie loved playing cat and mouse with winter’s wily fauna, especially when she could catch them off their guard, and even though drive parked no tan Sierra, neighbour’s felt like they were regularly rewatching *that* scene—the feline-‘Fargo’ version—via movieoke as curious cop prepared to pounce on her rapscallion rat. ; )

Blooms:

Some bend towards day’s sunny rays,

Others mourn what manquellers have torn,

A few seem to ever stare at an awe that appears bare,

Lots look straight up, wistfully wishing for a cloud’s pour in their cup,

Many try for a a practical stance—one ideal for a pollinator’s dance,

Most opt to display fully, even if it tempts youths to pully,

Rare ones will open at night because their beauty is tinted by dark over light,

None will ever move in for a kiss, though the ones they give are bliss,

Scarce are those within sepals hid, unable to lift potential’s lid,

All hope to carry a purpose of life, a joy that is resplendent as rife. : )

Are you the kingly tortoise tiger about whom I have heard—the one with a proclivity for procacity, whether it be via stealing kibble from a grumpiest mad dog or bestowing upon mum a still-croaking frog?

Well, my little fearless feline, clearly your love language revolves around gifts to get and gifts to give, so here is an embrace for your adorable face and if you heed more humility—lots—*you* may massage my hard-to-reach spots. ; )

Hugh of the queue thought, “Wee, this looks like a decent lea!”

Becks of the long-necks quipped querimony: “These tracks dispense the most inedible snacks!”

Jean of the in-between noted, “I have seen better grain whence there was more rain.”

Peter, the least picky eater, mused, “As a giraffe, I deem this roughage at least worth a lick and a laugh.”

Maddy—as optimistic as here daddy—chimed, “Woo-hoo! We can chew-chew while we watch the choo-choo!” ; )

Mimi’s gentleman had—she admitted, quite decently—arrived just a handful of minutes before their agreed rendezvous time, buzzing his arrival just as she was up-touching final fancies, so, in a moment of instinctual automacy, she pinched her undersized towel into a makeshift chlamys with one hand before skipping to the door, where she, with free fingers, turned knob and cracked the door just enough to greet her date with an apologetically charming smile—before welcoming him inside, where his fleeting view of less vanished from thought a few minutes later, when his lady returned of pulchritude in full dress. ; )