The Lion's Share

The video, something of a test, and the written copy below both tell the same tale. I would be curious to hear how each version works. Productions values, as the pros say, could certainly be improved on the video. As to the font, well, now I'm just pulling your tail. I suggest you listen first.

Getting the Lion's share

From where I sat, I would have sworn it was the neighbor girls come to visit. I saw their faces and heard their voices the same as I remember from twenty years ago. They look pretty much like young women now, but that’s just a simple function of time.

Michaela says that in few more years and with a little more work she’ll be a doctor. Molly’s on her way to becoming a nurse. Claire, the fair one with the sapphire ring, watches over the Northwest rivers for the USGS. Carly was apparently flying in as we were speaking from the French Space Agency. Who knew? That the French were into space? Or Carly? I remember her as the little red-haired girl wearing white go-go boots, but surely I’ll be excused for imagining some details.

I’ve been sitting here for twenty years, not moving much. Now my face is ruddy and my whiskers have whitened. Then I sat on the porch swing, a black, furry primate’s face on. Just watching. When I moved a muscle, the girls agreed it was Fiona from up the street who flew over five porch steps into Barry’s arms. Lucky for all of us.

I’ve done my little scary thing from the ground since then. The Bunches and the Hills at my back. The Sakamuras across the street. That’s how I remember it but there have been changes. I’ve been trying to count but I can’t get much farther than my five fingers. There was the Pumpkin Heads. The Mad Raker. Last year I was the Invisible, Long Dead, President William Howard Taft toasting marshmallows over a candle on All Hallow’s Eve.

It’s been about uncertainty all along. Is that cat for real or is he just a dummy?

Two new neighbor girls moved in across the street a few years ago. They know who I am and that I’m the one sitting in my yard. We have talked about it in the light of day. But this is the first year they made it all the way to the front porch in the dark, with their mother’s help. I expect they’ll be going into the sciences too.

It’s the dealing with uncertainty that makes girls more than pretty; it makes them smart. I saw it all along. I never had to move much to see those girls becoming somebody. And now I’m sitting here in the Lion’s chair, swishing my tale, my Cheshire grin not quite faded away.

I always was content to be a big old cat, watching the kittens play.