-the cat sees a fly-

mid-August humidity and important things stick to things of less importance.

It's the Andrew Sisters harmonizing "Heat Wave"from an old 78 rpm

as scratched as my scalp and I'm living at the edge of the doldrums. 

without momentum I'll fall into the abyss.

so I’ll pack a picnic basket and head-out to Marquis de Lafayette Park

where a manmade pool refreshes the occasional ducks, or drive to Sandy Beach.

on second thought, I think I'll attend "Whistle" DeCarlo's installation at the Lodge

which I hear will be contentious.

but I might just stick-around to watch the cat who sees a fly.

It’s one of those pesky houseflies which never seems to land on a place where

swatting is an option, preferring the rim of a tuna salad plate, or the delicate

mesh of the screen door leading to the backyard, or the painting hanging on

the living room wall where swatting will leave an abstract expression of the

fly's remains on the picture plane which is otherwise figurative in nature.

but the cat follows the fly on the wing with a keen eye and with a one-pawed

swipe from a seated position, the lazy-eyed housefly is stunned, falling on the rug

where the cat flips it around like any common ball of fuzz then eats it.
nearing noontime and the temperature's rising and 'though it isn't surprising

that the Andrew Sisters certainly can, (can-can) what I can't do is find my leopard-
print speedo, so Sandy Beach is out, and there's a gigantic spider clinging to the inside split-oak weave of the picnic basket, so the Marquis de Lafayette

will have to wait for another day. but the cat appears to be satisfied with a bellyful  of housefly, so I guess I'll take my chances and drive to the Lodge for "Whistle" DeCarlo's installation which I hear will be contentious.