It was early morning, still dark.
Willie was up at his station on the desk, like always. He was still sleepy, but
at his station like the lion king of the house would be, early in the morning.
“Hey, Lady, what does Monday mean,” he asked, yawning. Willie is always right on point about things.
“Um, we human types note the passage of time by assigning names and numbers to days. It helps us keep track of time. We mostly live within a rhythm of seven day weeks. I thought I already explained this to you years ago, Willie. Monday is the second day of every single week,” I said.
“It doesn’t feel any different from yesterday,” he said.
“That’s because you’re a cat, and you have no responsibilities.”
“Sure I do! I don’t want to go all mushy, but I demonstrate faithful persistent love every day. I’m an encourager too,” said Willie, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Oh! I wondered,” I laughed.
“Today is a holiday, Willie. If you don’t wear green, someone might pinch you!”
“First, what’s a holiday. Second, why in the world would anyone pinch me?”
“Well, young fellow, a holiday is when people make some kind of a fuss, eat special foods, drink special drinks, even wear special clothes, to help them remember something important to them. I didn’t use the word “celebrate” because then you would ask me what that meant!
“Today is the day people remember a guy named Patrick. He was a preacher in a place called Ireland, which as a matter of fact, is remarkably green! The climate is very kind to plants of all kinds. So, Ireland is green. Now, in Ireland, St. Pat’s day is a regular saint’s day. Not too big of a deal.
“But Americans, probably starting with those who thought fondly of “the old sod,” one nickname for Ireland, went nuts. It’s a thing Americans are really good at!” I piped down for minute. Then, "now days some of the Irish are doing the American version, green beer and all."
“That’s a lot to take in, Boss, at this time of the morning,” said Willie. He hopped down to the floor, heading for the kitchen.
When he got back from breakfast, he said, “I don’t understand the pinching part.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “But when I was in school everybody knew that if you didn’t have some green on, on this day, you were fair game for pinching.”
“I think people are a little strange. They play strange games. Now, we cats can’t pinch anyhow. Paws don’t work that way. Hence, biting!”
“One day, when I was in seventh grade, Willie, to celebrate, the day before St. Pat’s I dyed a lot of my clothes green in my mom’s washing machine. I don’t remember any repercussions. I think by seventh grade they figured anything could happen.”
I could see that he was thinking. But he didn’t say anything.
“Are you wearing any green, Boss?”
“Don’t be silly, Willie. I don’t do all that cultural hoohah stuff!” I said.
So, he nipped me a little and ran off with his tail in the air, snickering.
To be fair, he had warned me if I had been paying attention.
“Hey, Lady, what does Monday mean,” he asked, yawning. Willie is always right on point about things.
“Um, we human types note the passage of time by assigning names and numbers to days. It helps us keep track of time. We mostly live within a rhythm of seven day weeks. I thought I already explained this to you years ago, Willie. Monday is the second day of every single week,” I said.
“It doesn’t feel any different from yesterday,” he said.
“That’s because you’re a cat, and you have no responsibilities.”
“Sure I do! I don’t want to go all mushy, but I demonstrate faithful persistent love every day. I’m an encourager too,” said Willie, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Oh! I wondered,” I laughed.
“Today is a holiday, Willie. If you don’t wear green, someone might pinch you!”
“First, what’s a holiday. Second, why in the world would anyone pinch me?”
“Well, young fellow, a holiday is when people make some kind of a fuss, eat special foods, drink special drinks, even wear special clothes, to help them remember something important to them. I didn’t use the word “celebrate” because then you would ask me what that meant!
“Today is the day people remember a guy named Patrick. He was a preacher in a place called Ireland, which as a matter of fact, is remarkably green! The climate is very kind to plants of all kinds. So, Ireland is green. Now, in Ireland, St. Pat’s day is a regular saint’s day. Not too big of a deal.
“But Americans, probably starting with those who thought fondly of “the old sod,” one nickname for Ireland, went nuts. It’s a thing Americans are really good at!” I piped down for minute. Then, "now days some of the Irish are doing the American version, green beer and all."
“That’s a lot to take in, Boss, at this time of the morning,” said Willie. He hopped down to the floor, heading for the kitchen.
When he got back from breakfast, he said, “I don’t understand the pinching part.”
“I don’t either,” I said. “But when I was in school everybody knew that if you didn’t have some green on, on this day, you were fair game for pinching.”
“I think people are a little strange. They play strange games. Now, we cats can’t pinch anyhow. Paws don’t work that way. Hence, biting!”
“One day, when I was in seventh grade, Willie, to celebrate, the day before St. Pat’s I dyed a lot of my clothes green in my mom’s washing machine. I don’t remember any repercussions. I think by seventh grade they figured anything could happen.”
I could see that he was thinking. But he didn’t say anything.
“Are you wearing any green, Boss?”
“Don’t be silly, Willie. I don’t do all that cultural hoohah stuff!” I said.
So, he nipped me a little and ran off with his tail in the air, snickering.
To be fair, he had warned me if I had been paying attention.
🤍🍀🤍
A wonderful bit of a song!
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