Try as I might, I cannot keep fresh flowers in the house. Aida views them as a treat and munches them like potato chips at a picnic.
It's the habit of many a house bound feline, I know. I would be more comfortable with the ritual, I suppose, if I knew it held a higher purpose. Say, if she were practicing the art of flower arranging, I could chalk it up to the learning curve. Maybe she is forging ahead with some new advant garde form of flower manipulation that I am challenged to understand. Anything except that she was feeling peckish and merely needed a nosh.
But every time Hud brings in my sunny bits of Spring from the gardens and I must leave them unchaperoned, I return to find them chewed and strewn about the base of the vase. It's very disheartening. Such lovely things to be wasted on a snack.
We have dozens of varieties of daffodils on Schytherbolle's land. They came up before the snow and now light up the landscape with their cheerful glow. This type is commonly known as, "Scrambled Eggs".
You don't think she heard me say that once, do you?
