The Pussy Cat
by Oscar O'Connor
The wine contest story should come out best with a glass of wine. Better company produces better stories.
I summoned the Chateau Rothschild from my dad’s cellar and summoned my thoughts from my creative within. They poured down well, both of them. On a sheet of paper, I started giving them a shape. I saw the words flow down in ink on the A4 sheet, dancing like a loon; possessed.
They were coming out in rhyming couplets and rhythmic quatrains.
My ‘20 something existence’ on the planet earth has been everything but a poet. It was the 60 something from within who was in charge.
I wrote like never before. Rhymes about love, verses about the first kiss. A sonnet about the gorgeous blonde who gate crashed the wrong wedding, mine, wearing nothing, not even her shame. I was writing about the naked 14 year old who came running behind her with a naked dog when my phone rang.
It was my brave mother in law who saved the day for us, and it was her on the phone.
I returned and horrors!! Matilda, my pet cat has spoiled my day.. Horrors.. The whole bottle was down and it was on the A4 sheet. My poem written in ink was lost in its creator. The bunch of A4, drank it all, the rich blend. My rich old wine.
Tilda !! Wish you weren’t such a “pussy”. It was a rare one……. The ‘Chateau Rothschild’..
Sorry Jason, would send another story..