This morning, as I sat in Farmer H's La-Z-Boy, watching the upstairs TV, which is kind of like a lesser babka, compared to my big-screen in the basement...I sensed movement in the front yard.
Through the sprigs of lilac bush that have not been clandestinely consumed by Farmer H's goats, or choked by the heat and drought, I saw a flash of orange. It did not move in the manner of Yellow Leg, the strapping rooster. Nor was it as tall as he. No strutting. More of a slinking gait. I had my glasses on the table beside me. But donning them would have taken too much effort. And made too much sense.
My brain flipped on the lights for a virtual tour. Like a walk through Hannibal Lecter's Memory Palace. Outdoors. Animals. Orange. Slinking movement. Aha! I stopped at the exhibit that housed my mother's kitchen. I peered out her kitchen window, over the new two-lane concrete highway, to the edge of the woods just past the right-of-way. There he was. A fox. Orange. Slinking.
I squinted just a little. It sometimes makes my vision sharper. I waited. The questionable critter flowed a few more paces. Came out from behind the lilac shoots. I eagerly anticipated Mr. Quick Orange Fox jumping over my lazy dogs. But that canine insult would have to wait for another day. For what I saw emerge from the bone-dry branches was not a fox.
It was our orange-striped cat, Genius.
Join me here at the Mansion later this week, when I host a symposium on Which Goes First, Vision, or Mental Faculties?
But now, I must grab my glasses and head to the door. I think I hear a herd of zebras galloping down the road.