Foreign language

Tomorrow night is bridge group. Below are (l to r) Sammy, Marlene and hostess Cindy. We are on her porch, playing at her new table. With the table came the most comfortable chairs, they rock and spin.


I took a bridge class this Spring at Peachtree Pres. It was as if I had finally learned the language! I had been playing with Marlene's group for a while, but I was lost as to the bidding, which is only the key to the whole thing. So anyway, once I started understanding the bidding was a code, it was like Helen Keller when Annie Sullivan pumped that water in her hand and spelled W-A-T-E-R in her other hand. I knew I still had a lot to learn, but at least I was beginning to comprehend.

Below is Bailey, Cindy's male Maine Coon Cat. He is big. Large. Gi-nor-mous. He is an accomplished escape artist. This is the cat that I left my cozy home to go help rescue at Cindy's at 10 pm one night when she got home from some event and did not find him inside. I walked through ivy (I never walk in ivy, everyone knows snakes live in there) and called and called and flashed the flashlight with Cindy who was convinced he was gone. Then we heard it: the faint, pitiful, plaintive sound of a cat hoping to come home, eat his kibble and avoid the consequences once Cindy had gotten over her fright. He was in the neighbor's yard, but couldn't get back over the fence. It was an act, I tell you, designed to get Cindy's sympathy.



But here he is. Reclining at his leisure on the glider. Clearly he knows the language.