The chill did not discourage the thrushes from filling the gray evening with a chorus of song. Half a dozen or so of the birds were perched in a nearby pine, all singing at once, the complex melodies overlapping and forming ornate patterns. The cheerful notes provided a delightful contrast to the delightfully gray day. For spring to arrive trailing the dark robes of winter, yet covered in bright flowers and graced with exuberant song, greatly pleases me. This is more evidence that I'm easily pleased, I suppose.
Today could be Sluggo's last day as master of the house. I've been saying that for a week, now, but tomorrow is the outside outside day for his replacement's arrival. If it doesn't get here, I shall be very, very cross (this is the phrase that Mrs. Finder, my kindergarten teacher, used to use to express her displeasure with her students) with someone. Someone other than Sluggo, for a change. Telephone calls will be made, and automated responses will not be acceptable! The computer must arrive tomorrow, or someone will smart for it!
