The Burning Flame Of Suspicion Will Not Be Doused

I'm pretty sure Farmer H is still trying to kill me. Sure, a few days might pass with no overt evidence. But then he just can't help himself. He's a terrible would-be criminal.

Tuesday, I went out on the back porch to find Farmer H standing in the fake fish pond. Not IN it, exactly, but on the stones surrounding it. He had the hose of his new power-washer threaded through the slats of the back porch rail, and was spraying the slats on the section that runs at the back of the side porch, behind Gassy G-Lite. Don't worry about Juno's dog house! It's been moved back to its original location by the kitchen door.

Farmer H finally de-powered his hose, and turned to talk to me. When our conversation was done, he said,

"Before you go back in, take my glasses. Put them over there on the grill by my hat."

Gassy G-Lite had been moved out of the way, over by the two chairs the cats sleep on, next to the shelves that are someday going to be put in Farmer H's side of the walk-in closet. I took Farmer H's glasses and placed them next to his hat. As I was doing that, Farmer H started power-washing again! I was being engulfed in spray, as if I was at the bow of the Maid of the Mist, cruising towards Niagara Falls.

"HEY! You're getting me wet!"

"Oh. I AM?"

He was not trying to be funny. My shirt was wet, and also my sweatpants legs from the knees down. I guess the flat part of the rail, that you can lean on, kept my waist area from being sprayed. Here's the thing. Once inside the air conditioning of my dark basement lair,

I COULD CATCH MY DEATH OF COLD!

I swear, I never thought Farmer H was so imaginative. He's got more ways to allegedly attempt murder than a Tom and Jerry cartoon!