Mr. Squirrel

Mitch is the disciplined one. Every morning he rouses himself, putters around then grinds the coffee. When I hear coffee grinding, I know it's safe to get up.

Between the puttering and the grinding, I listen to Morning Edition and doze, often more dozing than listening, but there it is. Today the news was all about more stock market devastation. This doesn't make one want to jump out of bed with a smile on one's face to brave the day. But when the grinding commenced, I untangled myself from the sheets and cats and announced that we're moving to the ranch, raising goats and buying a few chickens.

I'll spin, make soap and knit, I said. Antone can be our barn cat.

Look, he's practicing already, he's got a squirrel treed.

Mitch looked at me balefully. Can we talk about this tomorrow?