The Evening Show

"Come on, Juno. Just walk."

Tonight, I surprised everyone by walking the entire distance around the block without sitting down once. Shane was highly approving. He never objects to my little fears, but he does sigh a great deal when I get stuck in one position—usually a sitting-down position—and refuse to budge.

It had rained during the day, so Joan tried to keep us on the dry parts of the street. Lots of people had thrown the remains of their MacDonald’s and White Castle orders into the streets. There must have been a run on junk food, because there were a lot more wrappers and soda cups than usual. Shane tried to grab some of it, but Joan caught him in time. She kept trying to whisper, “Yuk. Don’t touch that garbage.” But, she still has laryngitis. People can’t sound determined and serious when their voices don’t work.

Buddy was barking in the next yard when we got back, so Joan threw a biscuit over the fence. Then, I heard him munching and wagging his tail against his dog house.

I sat in the backyard until Buddy finished his biscuit and dozed off. Then I meandered to the front yard to watch the kitten across the street pretend she was stalking mice. She squished herself into a furry gray ball and moved like a turtle across the yard; then, all of a sudden, she popped high in the air, her legs sticking out at her sides, and landed back on earth, once more a little ball, and inched her way across the yard. She did it over and over again until she got bored.

She must have known that I was admiring her performance, for she kind of strutted up her porch steps, holding her head very high. A gust of wind lifted her gently up to the swing seat, and there she sat looking just like a tiny and noble lion.

Best wishes, Juno