Fagin is calling to me

I can’t get this earworm to wriggle out and infect some one else’s eardrum. I awoke to the call of the pick pocket and now it seems like the only life for me. I thought I wanted to be a writer but I suppose instead I want to be one of Fagin’s gang.

A few decades too late, perhaps, but maybe he’ll accept late pick pocketing bloomers!

I always liked Fagin. Not sure why. I just saw him as an interesting character and not in the wicked and cruel Bill Sykes way of interesting.

I suppose Nancy and Dodger (whom I named a cat after) are my favourites.

Why am I talking about Oliver?

I suppose I have little else to talk about. It was interesting writing some short fiction again recently but I felt much more like I was forcing myself to see something rather than writing down what I see in my imagination. If that makes sense?

You know I even got a fish to help relax. But he’s a Betta fish and he just wants to fight me so I’m not sure what I was thinking. He’s beautiful though. I’ll include his picture.

He’s such a little fish but he thinks he’s so big and tough. Kind of like one of my cats that has gained a death wish since we took Stella on trial. Atlas (said cat) enjoys getting right in Stella’s face and screaming. So, it’s not just her that we’re training to tolerate the cats company (although she’s already pretty good at that) but him we need to teach to stop screaming all the time.

Cats are pretty hard to train out of anything though. And I may be glad we raised such a confident ball of fluff but it does concern me. I expect Stella will be loose leash trained for another few weeks at least. That’s if her owner allows us to keep her. We are on trial afterall!

I would like to keep her. I think she’s brilliant with me and my husband and apart from a lip furl here and a low growl there she’s been very tolerant of our cats. We’re doing slow introductions of course but for the most part it’s smooth sailing.

Now I’m afraid I’ve jinxed myself.

*taps wood vigorously*

*knocks it twice more for good measure*

Are we knocking on wood to alert wood nypmhs? Or little elves? Because if so does that mean knocking on wood is pointless unless you’re in a forest. I can only assume that no elves inhabit my desk. I can’t say how welcome they would be either given the mischief they can cause.

I miss woodland. In England I lived right next to woodland and I enjoyed walking in it. Here I don’t trust the woodland. Too many snakes and weird psychotic bugs and bears and alligators. The woodland here has swampy areas, although I am so distrusting of alligators I wouldn’t be surprised if one appeared strolling through the woodland.

I’ll return home one day! Maybe when the housing prices aren’t so insane. If that ever happens.

Anyway, as always I hope the day is treating you well and that you’re treating yourself even better!

Arbie X

3 thoughts on “Fagin is calling to me”

  1. I am loving the way in which you deliver everything! Good point about the wood : ) Your Betta’s beauty surpasses any attitude problems. I fell in love with a particular one at a store, but I want to rescue them all, get them out of those tiny, cruel containers. I hope you get to your home soon.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I understand your sentiment completely. They’re such clever little fish that seeing them in those tiny cups (sometimes even dead) it just shouldn’t be allowed.


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