Whiskers and Scones
By Betty Adams
“I just think,” Mrs. Rattson said in high distress. “That you do need to be more careful.”
Old Mr. Cropper carefully poured out the nettle tea but didn’t offer a word of advice to add to the pile that Mrs. Rattson had just dropped on her nephew. Young Dash sighed and reached his paws out for another scone. He never could figure out which of the two old friends baked them.
“I am very careful Aunty,” Dash insisted. “You know I never put myself in a dangerous situation willingly.
“Well,” Mrs. Rattson said with a sigh as she lashed her long tail in agitation. “I think the problem is just that you and I have very different ideas of what a dangerous situation is.”
“Well I’m still here,” Dash said a bit sullenly, rubbing his paws over his gleaming white face.
“Well I heard from the titmice,” Mrs. Rattson began.
“Terrible gossips,” Dash muttered in a fair approximation of her voice that got a small smile from old Mr. Cropper.
“Be that as it may,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly. “I heard that you met up with a very large fox just last Monday-“
“She wasn’t even a stone heavier than me,” Dash muttered.
“Do stop interrupting dear nephew,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly. “As I was saying I heard that you ran!” She fixed her bright black eye on him and bared her teeth in accusation.
Dash sighed. “It was only three tail-lengths to the fence Aunty,” he explained. “And she was a good forty tails away. My course of action was perfectly safe!”
“That,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly, “is entirely beside the point. Do have another scone. It is perfectly scandalous for a healthy young opossum like yourself to run instead of dropping! For a fox no less! It might have well as been a coyote! Or a wolf even!”
Dash groaned as his Aunt rambled on. Though the image of the scrawny half grown vixen being compared to a wolf made him chuckle a bit. He took another scone and munched happily on the crispy exoskeletons that covered the topmost layer. He really had to get the recipe.
By Betty Adams
“I just think,” Mrs. Rattson said in high distress. “That you do need to be more careful.”
Old Mr. Cropper carefully poured out the nettle tea but didn’t offer a word of advice to add to the pile that Mrs. Rattson had just dropped on her nephew. Young Dash sighed and reached his paws out for another scone. He never could figure out which of the two old friends baked them.
“I am very careful Aunty,” Dash insisted. “You know I never put myself in a dangerous situation willingly.
“Well,” Mrs. Rattson said with a sigh as she lashed her long tail in agitation. “I think the problem is just that you and I have very different ideas of what a dangerous situation is.”
“Well I’m still here,” Dash said a bit sullenly, rubbing his paws over his gleaming white face.
“Well I heard from the titmice,” Mrs. Rattson began.
“Terrible gossips,” Dash muttered in a fair approximation of her voice that got a small smile from old Mr. Cropper.
“Be that as it may,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly. “I heard that you met up with a very large fox just last Monday-“
“She wasn’t even a stone heavier than me,” Dash muttered.
“Do stop interrupting dear nephew,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly. “As I was saying I heard that you ran!” She fixed her bright black eye on him and bared her teeth in accusation.
Dash sighed. “It was only three tail-lengths to the fence Aunty,” he explained. “And she was a good forty tails away. My course of action was perfectly safe!”
“That,” Mrs. Rattson said stiffly, “is entirely beside the point. Do have another scone. It is perfectly scandalous for a healthy young opossum like yourself to run instead of dropping! For a fox no less! It might have well as been a coyote! Or a wolf even!”
Dash groaned as his Aunt rambled on. Though the image of the scrawny half grown vixen being compared to a wolf made him chuckle a bit. He took another scone and munched happily on the crispy exoskeletons that covered the topmost layer. He really had to get the recipe.
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