“Winter is icumen in, Lhude sing Goddamm”… (Ezra Pound’s parody of Chaucer’s “Summer is icumen in, Loudly sing cuckoo”)
Well, who would know what that means, epecially me, but I do like a bit of Chaucer send-up every now and again, HA HA, and winter is definitely icumen in here.
It is very gray and miserable outside now and I have turned myself into a bear/cat. I, a bear who hibernates under the bed, and mama, a bear to all around her, especially poor papa. I see her snarling and huffing and poking around to find something that might cheer her up in this humid, cold, beginning-of-winter weather and then, around seven, her eye lights upon the nice little bottle of vino ready for dinner! Ça marche, as they say here in this little French village. That works!
Anthros are weird. When I’m struck with winter blues, I check out the catnip patch and take a roll, which, in winter, is pretty chilly and not as welcoming as in June. But what the heck, it functions.
Ah, now I see that mama has pulled up her bootstraps and is jolly again. It’s because she found a packet of mache seeds and is strewing them over my garden (hey, watch out—that’s where I like to scratch!) with a hope toward spring arriving.
And who wouldn’t be cheered up by a lemon tree loaded with possibles for limoncello, lemon chicken, lemon curd and eventual highlights in the hair?
Not MY hair—mama’s.
So I guess everyone gets the blues around January and it’s not really so long until, say, April first. But that’s why people have kitties (and doggies–Mya, I know you cheer up your anthros, too) so that they can reach out and stroke my darling little body when they’re feeling down and I can stretch and yawn and make them chuckle a bit as I help them on their journey toward warm sun and calm sea days.
So if my hibernation makes them happy, so be it.
Sleeping is a work of art, and it takes an artist to do it.
Back to work…
OH, what a BIG yawn!!