“Mummy, the cat’s gone!”
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You are staking the foxgloves and are on the point of giving the whole border a feeding of manure water.

“Are you sure, little lamb, have you looked all over?”

“Then climb into the car.”

Round and round you circle – Bainum, Grandview, Observation, Sischo, Croyden, Medley, Tuna, Bowers, Horseshoe, Basin.

“Have you seen a lovely little cat with a little attitude and a melancholy air?” No cat. Home for dinner.

A comforting dinner for the heartbroken.

Sweet Potatoes and Apple Sauce

The Elf has done his best with baked sweet potatoes and apple sauce, a layer of parboiled potatoes, sliced thin, a little butter and salt, a layer of apple sauce, more potatoes, more apple sauce, all baked for over a half an hour in a slow oven.

Out again after the pixies have gone to bed in tears, Fairy with her flashlight, on foot, the same little roads, shining her light into the dark spots. Home dispirited.

At ten, he waits at his bowl, mewing loudly to be fed, covered in grey cobwebs.

The contented fellow is a quondam adventurer.

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