Lord Of The Shrews

The early days of this new year bring chills, frosts, windy gusts and now and then, a perfect still and pristine night. Stars glitter in diamond scatters on a velvet sky, the sound of nocturnal wildlife carries for miles echoing eerily in the night. 

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     Husband has decided to have the first bonfire of the year. The incinerator is expertly stacked with combustibles in well organised layers, the ground cleared and finally the fire is ignited....a flash - a spark - then the first crackle of tinder accompanies the flickering firelight, illuminating the blackness with a primordial glow.

     Husband watches, assessing the furnace with a professional eye. At the perfect moment, he steps back and nods just once, satisfied that all is well, then turns and trudges across freezing earth towards the light from the kitchen door, clapping gloved hands together to recover some warmth until a mug of hot coffee can restore life back to his fingers. The door closes, and Husband and Wife retire together to relax watching tv in the living room.

     All is perfect. All is quiet. All is still. All is......

     .....the sound of drums......ancient sounds of primeval tradition. The sound of paws beating a rhythm on frost-hardened ground brings a wild magic to the night and shadows begin to dance across the lawn, the fences, the hen house, the cracked and painted panels of the old work shed. Some magic is afoot...some enchantment born of ancient rites.... It is the time honoured Roasting Of The Shrews! Spoken of in unlit places.....whispered only by those who know.....

     The cats have joined forces. Their warders are fooled, not noticing the strange draft emanating from behind the the enormous Raquel Welsh poster on the wall, knowing nothing of the tunnel leading to freedom and the dance of destiny which now whirls and spirals around the living flame. Outside, for miles around, shrews cling together, quaking at the sounds that herald inevitable doom. Their days are numbered, for Leonidas of Wickham has been summoned, his power undeniable, his presence overpowering, as he steps forward into the light and utters the awesome words of prophecy:

     "Hellooooo! Are there any sausages?"
 
     Wise old Gizmo sits upon his makeshift throne and watches the Champion with a drifting gaze. Now all he can think about is.... sausages. In the bordering fields, the shrews feel a flicker of hope - a glimmer of opportunity.....escape!  With Missy distracted by the robust rum and catnip punch, only the miniature Sapphira follows the path, the spare chicken coop already lined with plastic sheeting and the tools sharpened and laid out in grim and deadly glinting lines. A feline mincing machine, ecstatic in her enclosed psychosis, nothing can stand in her way! Shrew sausages..... she smiles as the marketing opportunities for organic local produce open up a world of possibilities! An island....a lair.....a shark tank and a laser to write her name on the moon! ALL THE CATNIP IN THE WORLD!!! Now a new sound, high pitched and piercing overrides the ominous drums, making dogs howl and bats drop their moths:

     "Mooowahahahahaaaaa.....MOOOwwaaHHaaaaaahaaaHHAAHAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

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Welcoming 2020 with the first kitty pic of the decade. For those who would like to note supplies, I used Winsor and Newton watercolours, Derwent Inktense bars, black Indian ink, pearlescent Cosmic Shimmer watercolour paints, white gel pen and gold Winsor and Newton metalic ink. And yes, I had to include my other old man, Harvey, watching over all us and telepathically ordering his brothers and sisters to gather ALL the blankies  and ALL the cushions and, darlings, order the pate de foie gras and the Chablis with your own fair paws...otherwise it's the prescription nippity bikkies AGAIN!