I admit to having too much sherry last night whilst reading mysteries and listening to the Kurundu birds sing like falling rain. It took a veritable keg of strong java to lull me from my slumber state, and I will warn you, fair readers: I could be considered crankier than usual.
Bubo littered bones all over the front step after a night of voracious hunting. (I’m assuming; perhaps she’s taken to grave-robbing, though for what ends, I’m unsure.) She disappeared this afternoon, most likely to nap in the breeze at The Green-Wood Cemetery, so I was left with sweeping up the pile.
I found this fellow between the rose bushes and the apiary.
He smells faintly of key limes and bleats “woah” every few minutes. I was unsure of his eyesight, but he kicked one of his sandals at me when I lit my pipe.
Should he become upright and angry, I am thankful he is not polycerate.
Oh, look it up.
