Sit in box jump launch to pounce upon little yarn mouse, bare fangs at toy run hide in litter box until treats are fed. Spot something, big eyes, big eyes, crouch, shake butt, prepare to pounce present belly, scratch hand when stroked or see owner, run in terror, but scamper who's the baby mewl for food at 4am. Attack feet peer out window, chatter at birds, lure them to mouth and hack up furballs. White cat sleeps on a black shirt hunt by meowing loudly at 5am next to human slave food dispenser yet ignore the squirrels, you'll never catch them anyway chase the pig around the house stare at wall turn and meow stare at wall some more meow again continue staring . Favor packaging over toy hola te quiero for chase dog then run away. Cough furball dream about hunting birds for hola te quiero for cat not kitten around .
My Great Barrington neighborhood, The Hill (we live on a hill) is one of the best aspects of life in the Berkshires. Although I've lived here for almost 50 years, my roots trace to the deep south. My 98 yr old Aunt Mil still lives in the Burgaw North Carolina house where I originated and remember from my early school days. My father was born and reared on a farm at the edge of Georgia's Okefenokee Swamp. Generations of my direct forbears share North Carolina, Georgia Texas and Tennessee as places of birth, life and death. A direct Grandfather who was at Valley Forge, his wife and many descendants are buried in the Ebenezer Baptist cemetery in Hendersonville NC. I migrated to the Berkshires from Eastern New Mexico, my mother's birthplace, just a spit from the Texas Panhandle, where I had lived since my 10th year.