Mindfulness seminar

Humans have a lot of trouble with what they call (in a fit of imprecision) mindfulness. By this, they mean that they can't stop worrying about what might happen or brooding on things that have happened instead of simply looking out of their cave and seeing the tasty flutterings go by.

Their brooding and their worrying (not to mention all the fluttering things they miss) make them very unhappy. They then fight against their unhappiness by all sorts of lesser and greater ineffectuals. For instance, they talk or eat or collect.

What they should do is to try to be more like us lower animals. When the sun is warm on our backs, we stretch out in it and never worry about filing our taxes. When we smell rodent, we hunt. When our arses itch, we lick them.

Since the publishing business is not making me any money, I have decided to run high-priced seminars in mindfulness, taught by myself and other experts. Such as Gooney, who, it is rumoured, has no sort of mind at all.

G says: "watch and learn, folks"

Magical Spring Recipes

I have been thinking of magical activities which might make the glaciers retreat from the deck and back garden. Not that I mind the sedimentary deposits of four months of snow, all crispy and edged with dirt. I just can't stand Bhiksu's shrill complaints as he stares down the back door, willing it to open.

Cooking is, of course, the best of magical activities. My recipe books make a pile that reaches to the ceiling of my cave. I haven't even opened all of them.

How the tips of my whiskers vibrated when I opened the index of a particularly fat one and saw the entry, HALIBUT. Think of it, recipes addressed to ME. The maker of this cookbook, though, thinks I must be particularly fond of fish, which as a landlocked prairie-dweller, would be a difficult kind of game for me to pursue too enthusiastically. Still, I think that Delicate has a large frying pan somewhere in her closet.

"A recipe for Halibut." Thank you, how kind!