One of my cats is a squealer.

She doesn't meow plaintively to attract passing tomcats. She'd have great difficulty doing that from the confines of a third-floor flat. Even if she weren't spayed.

Nor does she serenade the full moon or late at night when her human servants are trying to sleep. 

Oh no. This kitty is a tell-tale, a blabberer, a grass, a snitch.

The Joy Of Hangovers . . it's all about the sex and bacon

Your eyes open and the umpa band start off testing their foot pumps on the big drum in your head. Movement, yeah, let's try getting up.  The once rhythmical beat now steps it up to number 11, brain is now thumping and screaming at the inside of the skull, it would seem your brain wants out.  

Learning A New Language by a Noniglot

It is fair to say that unlike my sister-in-law who who is a polyglot and speaks fluent English (oh, she's German by the way), French, Spanish, German (obvs) and some others I can't recall, I am a noniglot.  I glot in no other tongue but the mother, and for me that is English (I am figuring that you guessed that bit).


the flutter unnoticed, time and space
an open silent yawn.
No grace
Falling thickly,
dense with expectation
wrapped so tightly it chokes.
At the bottom.
solid invisible.
But then
filament, twining lace
fuses, glowing
with connection.