The plans and schemes had been in place for weeks now, perhaps even an entire month. My desire was to write a blog-post detailing my adventures, intrigue, failures, successes, and all manners of life contained therein about this most recently deceased year, 1853.
To say those desires were dashed, bashed, and bludgeoned repeatedly upon the rocks of Trouble’s shores is an understatement.
I spent the better part of December writing an in-depth account of the incredible happenings of the year – the winged demon by the oxbow of the Connecticut River, the terrifying incident in the swamps of South Amherst by the railroad tracks that made me face the stark recognition of my own mortality, the carnival of horrors that rolled into town later in the summer, the giant boy who could not be stopped, the discovery of an evil beyond thought, and, of course, the cute things Carlo did.
I wrote about all of this – and more! – only to have my pages upon pages ruined and shredded beyond recognition by Vinnie’s damn cats.
There are those in Amherst who are somehow taken with the idea that all of the cats that linger around the Dickinson home (I mean our home – not the other 28 households in town that also bear the name “Dickinson”) belong to me. Why and how would anyone possibly think this feline plague was my doing? Can they not see my sister, Lavinia, enticing them with morsels of food and dishes of milk?
I have tried to feed the cats to Carlo, but he has no interest in eating them. I love him so, but I do wish he would obey my commands on a more regular basis.
Anyway, I attempted to re-write my blog-post, and had done the original piece a good deal of justice. Then, the next morning, before I could post it to the Internet-Webs, I found the pages in tatters again – the cats!
After seeing my hours of labor in a shredded heap upon the floor – for a second time – my heart was no longer in it. Perhaps at some point, that odd man who seems to delight in chronicling my adventures will pick up his pen and succeed where I have failed in the face of feline determination.
Plus, the Internets Tubes have been frozen solid for the past several weeks, so I would not have been able to post my recountings even if I had not been thwarted by Vinnie’s pesky darlings.
I sincerely hope 1854 is quieter and full of bountiful gardening.
And, fewer cats.