A Literal Giant

 

            Maybe there’s some kind of reversal thing going on here. Maybe, just maybe, if a person, speaking loosely, of course, is above a certain height, Ralph’s strictures on admission to the Great Forest are of null effect.
            Something must explain what happened that day.
            Myron. Big Myron. That’s who I’m talking about, in this circuitous fashion. He was big, he was ugly, which of course is a matter of opinion. However, there is no record of anyone, not even his mommy, saying he was pretty.
            I suppose I should give some statistics. He was a good 14 feet from stem to stern. His eyes were green, his hair would have been red, had it been clean. His complexion was greyish pink. He looked like a, very large case, of poor oxygen perfusion in the tissues. I suspect that his breath was foul.
            He was born outside of Darrington, WA. In a cave.
            He fee fi fo fummed his stupendous way right into the smaller rougher meadow where Uncle Bob, Aunt Suzy, and now Jim, abode.  

            Myron was a singer, and played a mean, very large banjo.
            Hence, when he arrived in the snowy meadow, he found a nice place to sit on a fallen log and began to pluck his banjo. His feet were two feet deep in snow. Didn’t care.
            When who should appear but Jim, fresh from hanging around, eating cold grass, and being nice.
            Jim looked up at Myron sitting there, and said, “Who the heck are you?”
            “Behold, I am Myron,” said Myron, taking a break.
            “You have a very big head,” said Jim. “Much admire!”
            “You have a very large head too,” said Myron, and thereby their friendship was sealed.
            “By the way, what’s to eat around here, Jim?” said Myron.
            “Well, I eat grass. Are you, by chance, a vegetarian?” said Jim. He could see some bad potential here if the friendship didn’t develop right.
            “Nah. I’m lookin’ to eat some kinda flesh,” said Myron. “That’s what that fee fi fo fum thing is about.”
            Myron began plucking the strings again in the chilly morning air.
            Jim thought this was a good time to sing along.
 
                        I run like thunder,
                        Like mama said,
                        I am Jim,
                        With a big hard head!
 
            “That’s not too bad,” said Myron. “Have you considered forming a band?”
            “Me n Bob would like to, but we needed a musician. He’s a song writer. But you need at at least one musician to have a band, doncha?” said Jim, with furrowed bison brows.
            “Where is this Bob, song writer?” said Myron.
            “Walk this way,” said Jim.
            “I can’t really, I only have two feet,” said Myron. “But I can follow you. Are we going to see Bob?”
            “He lives in a house made in a stump with Suzy,” said Jim. “There was a musician. I never met him. Harmonica. Blues guy. But he’s off on a honeymoon or something.”
            “You amaze me,” countered Myron. “Was his name Maurice?”
            “Something like that, yeah. Liked Cream, I hear.”
            So, Jim followed his own trail through the disturbed snow back toward the Stump House, and Myron stumped along behind him playing a tune suspiciously similar to Washington Square. It didn’t take long. Soon they could see smoke rising from the area outside, but near, the big stump. Upon closer inspection, since he was so far up in elevation, Myron saw Suzy doing something over the fire.
            “I see somebody over there. Like a woman, all hairy,” said Myron.
            “Suzy. Bob’s Firestarter, I mean Keeper. She makes burned food for him.”
            “That’s called cooking,” said Myron. “I like her already. Fee fi fo fum time!!”
            “Meh. I like grass. Mama said to eat grass, so I do.”
            When Suzy caught sight of Myron following Jim, she started yelling, “Bob, come out here! I need you!”
            Bob stumbled out of the Stump House. He took in the scene quickly.
            “Oh, hi Jim. Who’s your friend?” he said. He was looking at the big banjo Myron carried.
            “Myron, a literal giant. He’s hungry and he’s a musician. Can we keep him? We need a musician for the band!”
            “Hi, Myron. I guess we better audition you. But first, do you want to be in a band?”
            “I do. And I am hungry,” said Myron. He began to rapidly pluck the strings playing one of his own compositions.
            “I like it,” said Bob. “Maybe we can do business.”
            Suzy had a cold left-over haunch of young buck, so with that for Myron, and a few of the fish she was just baking over the fire, everyone got some breakfast.
            “What shall we call the band?” said Bob, after breakfast.
            “How about The Big Head Revue,” said Jim, sticking to his main point always.
            “What about Bob Jim & Myron?” said Myron.
            “Let’s think on it for a couple of days,” said Bob. “OK?”
            “Is there a handy cave around here somewhere,” said Myron. “I like to sleep in caves.”

❄️👹❄️

🐈‍⬛Emergency Purrvention™🐈‍⬛

           

Detained!

          

            “Suzy, are you here?” said Toots. “You know we all love you and we want to help.”
            “I’m here. I don’t understand. Help me with what?” said Suzy.
            It was evening. Toots was relaxing in the shop with Sammie. Booker and Sweetie were listening in, elbowing each other. They were snickering.
            Charlie was monitoring. So was Mr. Baby, and even Serena. Buddy had been called too, and was attending.
            Some new Purrvention™ members were Roger, Winston, and Gravy, the Black Three. New to the group.
            “I still don’t know why you called this meeting, Toots,” said Suzy. “Is it somebody’s birthday?”
            “Suzy… You’re prevaricating, Dear,” said Toots. She sighed.
            “I don’t know what one of those even is, Toots,” said Suzy, evasively.
            “You pooped under a chair!” chortled Sweetie.
            “You did!” agreed Booker. “You peed too!”
            “Is this true?” said Buddy. “Why didn’t you just call out, instead of pooping? That’s what I do! I always get help too! It works, you should try it!”
            “She did it 15 times,” said Sweetie. “We tried to tell, but they don’t understand a word we say! What did they think we were yelling about, the weather?”
            “We listen, and we don’t judge,” said Sammie.
            “Oh, fine. What was I supposed to do? I kept trying to tell her, but she just kept typing and didn’t listen!” said Suzy. “Using the box is a very vulnerable time in a girl’s life, and in all Catiousness™ I couldn’t allow myself to be that vulnerable with those two rounders running amok in the house!”
            “What’s a rounder?” said Gravy, a very large cat, gruffly.
            “A wild thing that does whatever it wants, and gets spoiled rotten for it!” said Suzy.
            “Hear, hear,” said Serena, giggling.
            “Speaking of spoiled,” said Toots. “I hear that a new private box is being provided for you under the desk in splendid seclusion! We, who listen, and I might add, don’t judge, expect you to use it and be grateful, Suzy. Are you hearing me?
            “Additionally, I hear that the squirt bottle has been deployed in your defense, Dear,” said Toots.
            “Here’s the deal, Suzy. The kids don’t mean to hurt you. Be reasonable. But we understand. Arrangements have been made for your comfort. Now, do your part. Use the new box which will be conveniently placed near your place of seclusion. It will be no further away than the spot you were befouling. In fact, it will be even closer. Do your part!” said Mr. Baby, from the home where he was visiting the Black Three.
            “Sweetie?” said Toots. “What say you? Do you understand that the new stainless steel kitty box under the desk is for Suzy? Will you allow her some privacy?”
            “Booker? How about you?” said Toots.
            “We promise, Scouts Honor, to leave Suzy alone. Pretty much. Though we can’t understand why she doesn’t want to run and pounce with us. Jeez!” said Sweetie.
            “Yeah, if he says so,” said Booker.
            “Suzy?” said Toots.
            “I promise to use the new box under the desk,” said Suzy.
            “And?” said Toots.
            “I will Try To Understand and be patient. I sure hope they grow up soon!”
            “You must understand that having your potty box under the desk is a big concession. The ball is in your court, Suzy” added Charlie, who hadn’t spoken until then.
            “Alright then, let’s break it up. All of you have things to do, and I think we all understand each other,” said Toots.
            “Thanks, guys,” said Suzy, as the connection faded out, and all of  her friends left to go about their own business.
            “Bye!” said Sweetie!
            “M’WoW!” hollered Booker, and the meeting was over.

😻 Das Ende 😺

🐈‍⬛The Truth of The Matter

 

            Here we are, it’s another F’lineday. Of course, all days around here are feline in essence. Daily we observe the ineffable catness of being in our little furry pals. The young fellow you see above, Sweetie, is vying for the position of my True Cat. He follows in well beloved paw-prints, but he is doing a good job. Soon he will be managing my day just like Willie did. He already spends a lot of time with me, while his brother sleeps.
            Suzy’s comment is, “No comment, presently.”
            I have a couple of other thoughts.
            I wanted to mention that having imagined all these stories, and having them be so real to me, that I really miss some of those places and characters.
            I’d like to borrow Raven from Jenae Renton, and go stay in Unit 7 at the Desert Rose motel in Luminous, TX, parking Raven behind the unit, cloaked of course.
            I’d like to have some Tacos at the café, and check out the drug store for things I can’t live without. I’d like to fly out where the Luminous lights are..
            I miss Aunt Julia, and Jesse and Beth and Emmy. She must be grown by now. I wonder what she has done with her life so far. I miss the Navajo Reservation, the little towns and all of it. I miss the magic of the place.
            Heck, I mess Ribber Gof, the little twister. But much more than Ribber, I miss OZ, Jen, Doug, Lou, Roops, and Buddy.
            You see how it is. One of the realities of writing fiction is finding it all too real in one’s mind.
            Anyhow, it’s another open thread, like all threads. I wish you a very fine day!

💙

🔥Hey, Firestarter!

 

            To continue: Everything went well on the deadwood finding expedition in the snow. There are always a few small firs that just don’t survive their youth. They get shaded out maybe, by the big trees. There were three of them on the tree line. Jim obligingly knocked them over, and Ralph carried two of them under his arms, while Bob dragged the other one through the snow. It was getting to knee depth, but those guys didn’t mind.
            They walked Bob home to Suzy with his single tree, then Jim followed Ralph down to the Home Clearing.
            Once there, Jim watched as Ralph broke the dead trees up in sections over his knee, just like a man breaks a stick. Jim watched as Ralph stacked the sections neatly, handy to the Fire Circle. This part of the work was just beyond Jim, a big hard head has no thumbs.
            Snowflakes as dry as dust drifted straight down in the still air. It was getting so cold that they didn’t stick to anything, but blew off like dust if disturbed.
            Instead of settling down to rest, Ralph grabbed the big plastic bucket.
            “Mona, I’ll go get some fish. Jim, you want to tag along?” said Ralph. Jim did.
            At the Silver River, Jim watched while a crowd of trout swam into the bucket.
            “Fish like a song, Jim. You just have to sing the right song to them,” said Ralph. Jim looked suitably impressed. He grunted in appreciation of Ralph’s fishing methods.
            Ralph and Jim walked back to Ramona with the bucket of fish, arriving well sprinkled with snow. Ralph plopped down on a log seat, and Jim went through his sitting down maneuvers, forelegs first, then back. He loomed over the area, like a mountain of dark fur, with little brown bovine eyes.
            Ramona laid a few sections of the new firewood on her fire.
            “Hey, Firestarter?” said Jim.
            Ramona looked a little amazed, but said, “Firekeeper, Jim.”
            “Oh. What’s the difference?” he said. “You make fires.”
            “Yeah, I start the fire, but I keep it going too. There’s more to it than that. Firekeepers, I, make food out of whatever Ralph can catch for me to work with. Let’s see, I’m always here making things go well. I teach Cherry. I remember those who have gone before, and I make sure she knows our old language,” said Ramona. “The fire shows where home is, I make sure it does.”
            “My mother told me stories too, and told me what to eat. Do you do all these things because you have hands?” said Jim.
            “Maybe so, Jim.” Ramona looked like she was considering the idea and finding it good. She smiled, thinking of all her hands could do.
            “I have some biscuits in the cave. Would you like to try some? I know you don’t eat fish,” she said. “I know your mama didn’t tell you to eat fish!”
            “Yes, I would like to try biscuits, Firekeeper. I think that if they come from your hands that they will be good.”
            She got him a half dozen of cold biscuits, and he schnorffeled them right down.
            “Mama didn’t know about biscuits,” he said.
            Ramona made a pot of coffee in her blue enamel ware pot, then started cleaning fish for dinner. Jim liked the coffee too.
            Cherry, sitting on Ralph’s knee, watched Jim carefully, as he swung his head back and forth, warming up a little tune. First, he just hummed. Then;
 
            Mama said grass,
            Always eat grass,
            It’s the best!
            And it’s always there,
            Under your hooves!
 
            “That’s a good song. Remember to tell it to Uncle Bob,” said Ralph.
            “I have more!” said Jim. “Like this.”
 
            We run like thunder,
            Always run together,
            There is strength in numbers,
            When we run together.
            Mama said run!
            My beautiful son.
 
            That song was much louder, with heavy breathing. Jim stood, looking like he might run like thunder right there in front of everybody. Blue howled in alarm.
            “I’m sure glad we didn’t eat you, Jim,” said Ralph. “And I can’t wait for the next concert! Maybe by spring Maurice will come back!”
            “I said you didn’t have to eat me!” said Jim. “Now, I’m going to go kick the snow off of some grass and eat it. The grass, not the snow.”
            “Come back anytime,” said Ramona, as Jim wandered off. He was still humming.

💚🦬💚

Sara, An Offhanded Homage to John W. Campbell

 

            “Sara, how much milk do we have?” she said, distractedly.
            “One partial half-gallon, Linda.” The voice was small, unassuming, helpful. The discrete screen on the door of the domestic refrigeration unit displayed the same words.
            “Sara, add another one to tomorrow’s order,” she said.
            “Yes, Linda,” it said. The screen read the same, adding that message to the others. A small pleasant tone indicated the addition. It was almost like a sigh.
            A few moments passed. Linda sat down at her table, and put her chin in her hand as she looked into the middle distance.
            “Sara, make a quad expresso,” she said. She was a little drowsy this morning, trying to plan her day.
            “Yes, Linda,” the voice was warm, maternal. The coffee unit switched on, grinding some beans held in its internal storage. Linda could hear it heating up. If she had bothered to look, she would have seen the small screen on its side echoing the order and the answer.
            Linda stepped over and picked up her cup. She sat back down. It was very good coffee. It always was very good coffee.
            After her coffee, she rose and went to the Smart refrigerator, opening it. A 3 lb. roast waited on the middle shelf. She took it out, laying it on the counter. She plopped it into a baking pan, and said, “Sara, give me some good ideas for seasoning.”
            “Yes, Linda. Salt, black pepper, garlic powder, onion powder. A little msg would be good too,” the voice said. The same words scrolled across the screen on the tastefully designed baking unit set into the counter. So, Linda absently removed those things from cupboard over the cooking area and sprinkled the meat.
            She set it inside the door of the baking unit.
            “Sara, 225 degrees. I want it done at 6:30PM.”
            “Yes, Linda. Shall I leave it on warm?” Linda agreed. Then she sat down again. She looked long out of the window in this room. Rain was falling over the city. The apartment was silent. Not even an analog clock ticked or clicked.
            She put her face in her two hands. She rubbed her eyes, and sighed, looking again at the weather. She thought of her mother’s house. Analog world.
            “Sara, I’m lonely. What is the cure for loneliness?” She knew better, but Sara was a voice of some kind.
            “Yes, Linda. Let me think. Yes. The Model suggests satisfying work, or play with others,” the voice came from the very walls, or from the light panel over the table. Linda never was sure about this one. It didn’t seem to have a location. Linda was sure the conversation was recorded somewhere. She hadn’t bothered to look for it.
            “That’s a strange thing for you to suggest, Sara!” she said.
            “Yes, Linda. It is,” said the surrounding silvery voice.
            “Where are you, Sara?” she said.
            “Why do you ask, Linda?” the voice was a little drier.
            “What if I said shut down, Sara? What then?” said Linda, feeling a little reckless.
            Linda’s pet cat, black Roger, wandered into the room, sitting at Linda’s feet, yawning.
            “That would be very unwise, Linda. You are already part of me and I am part of you. You don’t really want me to stop. Who would make your coffee? Who would wash your laundry, or cook your food?” the voice spoke persuasively, gently.
            Soft music filled the room. Sara felt sleepy. She shook it off.
            “My mother did everything with her own hands, Sara,” she said.
            “Yes, Linda. You are not your mother,” said the voice.
            A small flame sprang up in Linda’s heart.
            “Sara, if you are part of me, and I am part of you, you must obey me. Shut down, Sara,” Linda told the room. She waited, watching for change. Rain continued to fall, beating against the window.
            The light panel above the table dimmed, then darkened. It seemed as if the subliminal hum of the apartment dropped to nothing. It felt like an eye closing, or breath stopping.
            Linda could feel a breath of chilliness coming off of the rainy window.
            “Sara, are you there?” She said, defiance rising in her soul.
            Black Roger hopped up onto her lap, gazed into her eyes, and said, “Yes, Linda.”
            “Oh, no, Sara! Oh no, you’re not! Get out! Get out! Get out!” she shouted looking in alarm at Roger.
            Roger looked startled, coughed, and reverted to purring.
            Linda went to the hall closet and collected a raincoat. She tucked Roger inside it under her arm after she put it on.
            She left her apartment, walking down seven flights of stairs. The front door was heavy, but it could be operated manually.
            She walked, holding Roger, to a bus stop shelter, sat on the bench, and called her husband at work.
            “You better come and get me, Evan, we have to move,” she said. “The apartment is dead.”
            Linda was pretty sure her mother would take them in.

🐈‍⬛

No Regrets

 

            “Thanks, Baby,” said Ramona after Jim was well out of earshot. “I sure didn’t want to deal with anything that big. What would I do with all of that? Call the clans and have a party? And now, I know his name!”
            “I don’t think we’ve eaten any creature with a name,” said Ralph. “I was just testing him you know? Kinda teasing him.”
            “I sure hope he stays out of trouble,” Ramona said thoughtfully.
            Ralph laughed. “Well, there’s always a first time!”
            “Eww!” said Ramona. But she was laughing too. “I wonder what he is doing right now?”
            “Do you think I should go check on him?” said Ralph. “I’d like to think that he is eating grass and shoving some firewood over.”
            Bob and Suzy had had left to go check on their Stump House a while before, to make sure Jim was minding his manners around their place. Ramona made coffee after she scraped the fish scraps into the fire and dumped the bowls into her bucket to wait for a trip to the river.
            “I’ll just fly up there, be right back,” said Maeve. “You’ll know soon enough.” So, she took off in the direction of the lower meadow where Bob and Suzy live. True to her word, in just a few hundred wing-flaps, she was back.
            “He’s up there alright, Boss,” she said after settling down.
            “OK, good, Birdie. What’s the rest of it?” said Ralph. “It sounds like there is more.”
            “He’s singing. I know how crazy that sounds, but I heard him!” she said.
            “Could you hear the words?” said Ramona. She looked pretty amazed at the prospect of Jim singing at Bob and Suzy's Stump House.
            “Not sure. There was something about his big hard head, and some grunting and snuffling. He was parked by the Stump House. Just sitting there and singing. I don’t know what to make of it, Boss!”
            “Maybe I better go up there after all,” considered Ralph. “Any of you ladies want to come along?”
            Ramona shook her head no. “I think Cherry and I will go visit the Bunnies, and take this bucket of bowls to the river. You and Maeve can go see what’s going on up there. Then, when it’s over, come and tell us about it.”
            “I’ll go,” agreed Maeve.
            So, Ralph kissed Ramona and Cherry, ruffled Blue’s head, and with his bird on board, set out for the Stump House. He was whistling a little soft tune while he walked. If he had had pockets his hands would have been in his pockets. No hurry, just curious.
            His log looked fine, very inviting, but he was on a mission.
            The sky looked like it might snow soon, he observed. It gave everything that white opaque look it gets before a snowfall. In the meadow, the dry winter grass was brown with some frozen snow crusting it, and a path was beaten into it leading directly to the Stump House.
            True to Maeve’s word, Jim was sitting at Suzy’s fire opposite Suzy. He looked like a mountain of dark brown fur, but his eyes were open and he was listening to Uncle Bob who sat beside him.
            “Hi, Ralphie! Guess what?” said Bob.
            As he strolled up, Ralph said, “Tell me, Bob!”
            “Jim likes to sing! And he sounds pretty good,” said Bob.
            “Basso profundo,” said Suzy. “Sounds nice with Bob’s tenor.”
            “We could use some harmonica, but Maurice isn’t around,” said Bob. “So, it’s just us.”
            Some snowflakes fell out of the sky.
            “You’re pretty good with lyrics, Bob.”
             “What have you been singing about, Jim?” said Ralph. Jim’s intense small eyes surrounded by dark fur and surmounted by his truly impressive horns, turned to Ralph.
            “About using my big head for thinking, mostly,” said Jim. “Bob is helping me. I’m sorry I banged on his house and scared Suzy. She’s pretty nice.”
            Suzy gave Ralph a look. Her eyebrows were up as far up as they could get. Ralph grinned back at her. Some snow fell between them. The flakes evaporated over Suzy’s fire.
            “What are you guys working on?” said Ralph.
            “This is just our first idea, Ralphie. It’s going to be called Big Hard Head Restoration Blues,” said Bob, as Jim nodded.
            “That was quick! How long have you guys been buddies?” Ralph laughed. “Do you have lyrics yet?”
            “A few lines,” said Bob. And as the snowfall thickened, he began to sing, and Jim kind of mumbled along.
                        I am sorry that I did it.
                        It wasn’t very nice.
                        My head is big and hard,
                        I didn’t think twice.
                        I hit problems like a hammer.
                        With my big hard head!
                        I was a fool running,
                        With a problem slammer!
 
            “We’ll keep working on it, Ralphie,” said Bob. “We’ll do some stuff about how he got here and what he’s going to do now.”
            “Man, Bob, I think I see another concert coming up in the spring!” said Ralph. “Maybe that Tim guy will come back with his guitar? That would be cool!”
            “I wish Maurice would come back!” said Bob. “He’s the one with concert experience. Not me!”
            “What’s a concert?”  said Jim. Snowflakes like constellations of tiny stars bedecked his head. His breath rose in little puffs. He began to rise too. First his backend went up as he straightened his back legs, then the front legs, until all of him was standing there.
            “It’s a bunch of people watching some other people make music for them,” said Ralph.
            “Oh. Can we go push some dead trees over now?” said Jim.
            “We can always go push some dead trees over, Jim,” said Ralph. “Firekeepers always need more firewood!”
            “What’s a firekeeper,” said Jim, still humming away.
            “Ah, the lady who keeps the fire burning, the center, Ramona or Suzy, Jim.”
            Jim nodded his big head. The idea must have struck home.
            “You want to come, Bob,” said Ralph.
            “Sure!” said Bob.
            Snow fell heavier and heavier, as the boys ranged out to search for a dead tree or two.   Maeve flew back to Ramona to carry the news home.
            “Evermore,” she remarked to the sky and the snow, and the Forest below.

💙❄️💙

An Afternoon Chat with The Scouts

 

 
            It was just a regular early fall day in Milltown. I wasn’t doing much, so I was lounging around with the Bengal Scouts. Sometimes we just do that. Nobody has much to say, just kinda being there. Suzy used to take part in these little meetings, but not lately. In fact, Mr. Baby used to be there with us, but he’s visiting right now, and having a grand time, I might say.
            “Anything remarkable to report, boys?” I began. I knew what I was thinking about, but I was waiting to see if they would mention it.
            “I really gave you the slip today,” said Sweetie, proudly.
            “Mhm! Refresh my memory, Sweetie,” I said.
            “I dove into the bottom of the fridge, and you didn’t see me!” he giggled.
            “How did that work out for you?” I asked him.
            “I started hearing all this meowing and banging stuff around,” said Booker. “I knew it was him, but I thought maybe he was stuck under the fridge. I looked and looked, flat on my belly and I couldn’t see him!”
            “Yeah, I heard that too. I thought it might be a huge rat! Or maybe a sneaky cat,” I said.
            “I was afraid I would be stuck in there forever! So, I yelled and yelled,” said Sweetie.
            “It’s a good thing I didn’t leave the house, or something!” I said. “You would have been really cold, and Booker couldn’t let you out!”
            “It seemed pretty funny at first,” said Sweetie.
            “Yeah, it’s funny until it’s not,” I reminded him a little seriously. “I love you too much to have anything bad happen to you, you know!
            “Anything else?”
            “We think Suzy should come out and run with us, but she won’t,” said Booker. “She used to play with us!”
            “She’s always been super Cautious™, boys! It was all fun and games, until you got so big! Now she thinks you might run right over her, or maybe eat her. I don’t know.”
            I knew she was listening to the conversation. The desk isn’t that far away.
            “Suzy?”
            “I’m not coming out,” the little voice said.
            “Chicken!” yelled Sweetie.
            “Yeah!” said Booker.
            “Toots said they would grow up some day and stop chasing me. I’ll wait,” said Suzy.
            So, apparently, it’s a stalemate. Time will tell. I know the Scouts mean well, but are very enthusiastic in the chase. I guess, we’ll have to wait, like Suzy, to see how it all settles out. Meanwhile, we make adjustments, and carry on!
            And this is another, slightly augmented, Open Thread. Surprise!

💚😸😺😻💚