I head downstairs and eat my snack in my new respectful manner. I wonder if I should bow to each kibble before I eat it? I decide this is appropriate given what I appear to have absorbed from the philosophy books. It takes time to perfect the technique though I get the impression the kibbles are happier to be eaten this way, as though by nodding to them in turn I am recognising them as the individuals they are rather than crunching them to pieces in an anonymous way. Feeling sated, I run up the stairs and head for the window, I press down on the handle and the window opens with some effort. I jump down onto the grass and gaze up at the rose staircase. I can feel the food in my tummy telling me I can do this. I put my paws on the wire and pull myself up. I do the same action again and now all my paws are on the vertical staircase. I miaow to give myself some encouragement. Half-way up the staircase my strength gives out and I drop to the grass. I did a lot better than yesterday and I will do better tomorrow.
“That was better,” said the crow standing next to me.
“Thanks Sid,” I replied.
“I’m Stan,” said Stan, “Stan the Crow, pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too, but how do I tell you apart?”
“Sid’s got jet black feathers, whereas mine are just very dark grey,” said Stan.
“They look black to me,” I said.
“Well, they’re not Freddie, they’re very dark grey and I think your eyes need to adjust to the subtle nuances of the darker items in the colour palette.”
“I see,” I said, “can I just stare at your feathers a minute then?”
“Of course,” said Stan, “time is not pressing on me greatly at this precise moment in time.”
I stared at Stan’s feathers and eventually saw what he meant, they were a charcoal colour of dark grey.
“How are things today, Stan?” I asked. “Things are going well, today, young Freddie,” replied Stan, “we had a good meeting with Rufus this morning about the nut and seed situation in the park and how it can benefit all of us in the long run. We exchanged information about where our caches of food are, so we don’t steal each other’s food.
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 