The Stiglets……

Skosh doesn’t have the world’s longest fuse, no pun intended.

Now granted, the Stiglets that live in the zipper compartment of my

Perfect Bag are indispensable to me, I admit that freely.  I would not have nearly as good a time as I do if I didn’t have them as tenants.  However, they are a trifle…undisciplined in nature, shall we say, and Skosh finds them unbearable.

As he grows, Skosh see himself as a somewhat Gatsby-like figure….lonely in soul and tortured by his own intelligence but CLASSY, BY GOD and no mistake.  He needles and nags for me to buy ascots for him.  A tie pin for the ascots.  a striped vest.  Not to mention that it took several weeks to convince him that with his particular proclivities, a cigarette holder would be a stunningly bad idea.  Still, he has graven-in-stone ideas concerning proper behavior and even hearing the voice of one of the Stiglets makes him physically nauseous.  “who in Hades refers to one’s mate as “maw” or “paw”??’  a maw is an open mouth, or so  I hear, and a paw is…well….one of those things  those hairy whatever-they-ares that you set such store by  have.  Maw.Paw,  for Christ’s….” at which  point I have to reprimand him for swearing in front of the kitten.

‘Matchbox trash!’ he fumes…literally.  ‘zipperslags!!’  He maintains that they are not to be tolerated with their loud music at all hours and the clanking of mounds of tiny bottles hitting the trash early in the morning, yelling indistinguishable but ill-tempered rants at three a.m….well..Skosh does have a point.  They are not  exactly the family of stigs I would have chosen but here they are and if I want to maintain my lifestyle, it’s come up regularly with the beer and the jerky or else.

I think  the clinkers really hit the fan, though, when Britney came to town.

Now, none of us here in the house can abide Britney Spears, not even for a nanosecond, and Skosh is the most vocal about it so we simply avoid her at all costs.  however, the stiglets do not share our abhorrence and don’t care who knows it and when they found out that she was in concert at the local hogcall two nights later, the noise level from the zipper of the Perfect Bag became completely unbearable.  I have never learned more than a few words of stiglish so I never did find out what they were squalling about, I gathered it was some manner of thorn-throwing contest to see who got the best tickets.  In any case the big night finally came and my bag reeked of a foul miasma of conflicting and varied stiglet ‘colognes’ and after…shaves?  the stiglets were on the move.

Skosh was completely unaware of this event since whenever he catches a glimpse of La Spears, he is unable to control his loathing and something in the house gets singed, so we kept him in the dark as much as possible….but on the evening in question, my zipper compartment burst open and with a flurry of denim, crinoline and a variety of unbearable reekings, here came the eeehaw set in a screaming body, uttering at top volume the only english sentence they know..’ OMG ITZ BRITTNEEEE!!!’   Skosh, caught completely off guard, was knocked to the floor and a herd of stigs ran over his tummy and his neck and were out the door and  gone before he had a chance to react other than viscerally. his tail flew into the air and it took him five minutes to right  himself  by which time the stiglets were but a faint and fragrant memory, at least for the remainder of the evening.  That was two weeks ago and the vet tells me that Skosh will be sitting up and taking nourishment any day now, but I still have no idea how I shall manage to fix, much less explain to a handyman, the wide swath of charcoal across the ceiling of the house, or why there is yet the slight, lingering scent of strawberry gravy cologne on the air.  –Posted by Susan

Find strange art by Susan and Dennis at Galerie Yggdrasil


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