There is a Hyacinth Club in our house. I don’t mean one like the one in the book… this one is composed of bears, cats and snails who like to watch green things grow. Elizabeth wrote a charming poem on her poetry blog about the president of our furry Hyacinth Club — who is over the moon about it.
Picture prompt… that’s an interesting idea! Usually we write something and find a picture to suit the words, but why not the other way around?
I’m not feeling inspired tonight, but I have a photo of one of the club members dabbling in the cats’ water fountain. They love it, and it saves us having to turn on the tap for Samson every five minutes. It was getting a bit much; he would hop up and demand for it to be turned on, then stare at us with a raised eyebrow as though to say “did you want something?” Five minutes later he would be back, asking for the tap again. He would leap on the sink just in front of you when you went to fill the kettle. He would streak rapidly into the bathroom if you were headed that way, and demand a long, leisurely lap at the hand basin.
We were relieved when my sister gave me the water fountain! After setting it up, we took Samson to it every time he requested the tap… he soon got the hint, and drank from the fountain instead. So did all the other cats. We had to prop it up on a footstool, as that was one of the conditions of Samson using it… he simply isn’t interested if he can’t tip his head back, open his mouth and have the water splash in.
A few days ago, some furry unknown knocked the fountain off its perch. Water everywhere! I was in a hurry to turn it off, as apparently the motor burns out if it runs dry. Then I left everything to drain while the carpet dried.
There was a big bowl of fresh water, but the bats — sorry, I mean cats — got increasingly upset about the loss of their fountain. Mum found Delilah pummelling the coffee maker in frustration. When I went down to set it all up again, the cats watched every move, and Delilah put her head in the reservoir to peer at the water. Maybe they were making notes so that they could reassemble it themselves if they had to.
Finally the water was flowing again, and Mum said to Samson, “you won’t knock it over again, will you?” He said nothing, but beamed from ear to ear, his tail wrapped tightly round his feet.
Song in my head (apparently from nowhere): He Aint Heavy, He’s My Brother (Neil Diamond).
The road is long with many winding turns
That lead us to who knows where,
Who knows where?
But I’m strong,
Strong enough to carry him.
He ain’t heavy; he’s my brother.
No, just realized it’s not from nowhere. I began a blog post earlier (then deleted it) saying Mum was blaming the mackerel pâté for making her unwell. I had some and was fine… but then I’m younger and stronger, so that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the pâté.
Corny? Nah. I’ve always loved that song.