Far back in July of 2010 a blogger, one of my three daughters, the one that lives, loves, laughs and labors in North Virginia posted this item about one of her children, one that is gleefully gamboling in Elysian fields while waiting to be reunited with her at the Rainbow Bridge. If you are not familiar with the Rainbow Bridge, please do yourself a favor and click here. It’s an extensive site and you’ll need to scroll down a bit to be treated to beautiful music and the story of the Rainbow bridge. And while you’re still online, linger awhile at this site for a visit to a fantastic garden, replete with fabulous floral fotographs, prophetic prose and various visits to places ranging southward from Alaska and Canada to the South Pole and eastward to various European countries.
I commented at some length, a fault (?) for which I have been scolded, on her Sewing with Jasper post. I recently reviewed my response and was so pleased with its length and its scholarly tribute to Jasper that I am now moving this pearl of prose from the dark of comments into the light of day. It would be beneficial for you to read the blogger’s original posting before perusing my comment. Enjoy!
My original comment follows:
I have some serious doubts as to whether Jasper can be trusted with his decisions on the quality of Karen’s sewing shams. In the first photo he is looking up in rapturous wonderment, showing love and understanding of your efforts with the promise that he will still love you regardless of the quality of your stitches.
Now study the second photo:
Jasper is staring intently at Karen, the seamstress, as she strives to produce perfection, fully aware of the inspector’s attention. His eyes are heavily hooded, his brow is deeply furrowed and his hind legs are curled under. He is prepared to pounce—his entire visage and his body language telegraphs his intent to seriously damage Karen if she drops even one stitch. His left paw is outstretched, ready to punish with razor sharp claws for a dropped stitch—just look at his eyes and read his lips!
That’s exactly how Al Pacino looked in “The Godfather” when he excused himself from a restaurant table, probably on the pretext that he had to pee, went to the restroom where he retrieved a pistol from behind the commode water tank, then returned to the table and pumped bullets into the heads of his erstwhile dinner companions—a high-ranking police official and a top-ranked Mafia boss—and then fled to Italy where he met and married a really cute girl and lived happily ever after until she was blown up by a car bomb intended for her husband.
See there? With a cat like Jasper around, even Karen’s husband could become a target, victim of an exacting “better get it right the first time” feline quality control inspector.
Postscript: Get ready for a delightful visit to Green Spring Gardens in Alexandria,Virginia. Click here for an invitation to Cindy Dyer’s pending show entitled Garden Muse: A Botanical Portfolio, scheduled for February 28-April 29, 2012, so there’s plenty of time to come see it if you’re in the Virginia/D.C. area or are planning to visit this spring.
The King of Texas 