A Monday in Retirement

What happened yesterday?   There was a sea-fret in the morning - making the Channel look misty and romantic and disappear for a while.  Captain B had his Metal Detector Hat on and flew off to a conference in Kent, taking a packed lunch with him.   The arthritis gave me back my limbs for a while and so I spent the morning doing some of the housework that had accumulated, and the afternoon studying and watching daytime TV.
I don't find the evening TV of much interest these days, but can always find something on during the day.  One one morning, I even found myself agonising over whether or not Thomas the Tank Engine would get the waggonload of ice-creams to the beach before all the children arrived.
To put you out of your misery - it was touch and go - but he did it!
Good old Thomas.  You can rely on him.  You can also rely on no-one getting hacked to pieces, or being raped, or both, in lingering gory close-up on Thomas the Tank Engine.
In a thread about rats and things on Facebook this morning, I got an opportunity to use this poem (verse) I wrote many years ago:

A MORAL DILEMMA

 by me

Why do I feel

No pity for the flea?

I suppose because

It preys on me

The two giant spiders

In the bath

Fill me with such panic

I have to ask

Ken-next-door

To take them out

But I do not wash them

Down the spout

I do no harm

To mice or rats

A philosophy not followed

By my cats

But fleas I kill

With sprays and no remorse

I spray the cats

As a matter of course

Fleas probably die

An awful death

Slowly choking

Robbed of breath

Do they feel?  Think?

Care?  All that?

Have they just

Achieved their cat?

A comfy home

With lots of bites?

A decent future

For their mites?

All in all

A scratchy heaven?

When suddenly

I am upon ‘em

PIFF PAFF

I squirt their furry host

And the fleas’

Paradise is lost.

Its very nice its come in useful after all these years.   I am just off on the doors with Audrey, via the Tuesday morning Field Service Group at the Kingdom Hall.