- Joined
- Mar 24, 2015
- Messages
- 32
- Purraise
- 53
Simon, the pure black cat, was never one for a camera—any camera—because, unlike with one of the two human hosts with whom he resides who owns a computer, there was no “mouse” involved with which Simon could manage things … Well, he sort of could manage things.
He could move that arrow on the computer’s monitor screen wherever he deemed necessary, then he’d simply press his paw down on one of the two big mouse left/right buttons—and, presto, that was that! But a camera? To actually take a picture?
No; I’ll have none of that, he’d decided. I simply won’t have any of that. None.
However, it then suddenly dawned upon him during one lazy summer late-afternoon while laying in the sunshine warming the living-room’s beige carpet: The 14-month-old great-grandson, William, of Simon’s other human host, the one who’s also the woman of the house (the lady whom he calls Mama), was adoringly captured in a small picture—a photograph which was leaning on the coffee table’s centre-piece, deep-purple vase. Simon couldn’t help but find the sweet, laugh-a-lot toddler endearing—so much so, in fact, that Simon decided to take the picture of little William. Simon hopped up onto the coffee-table, took the picture gently into his feral-feline mouth and then trotted off to Mama’s room, laying it down onto her also-beige carpeted floor.
Who needs a camera? Simon somewhat-smugly, rhetorically asked himself. Not me!
He could move that arrow on the computer’s monitor screen wherever he deemed necessary, then he’d simply press his paw down on one of the two big mouse left/right buttons—and, presto, that was that! But a camera? To actually take a picture?
No; I’ll have none of that, he’d decided. I simply won’t have any of that. None.
However, it then suddenly dawned upon him during one lazy summer late-afternoon while laying in the sunshine warming the living-room’s beige carpet: The 14-month-old great-grandson, William, of Simon’s other human host, the one who’s also the woman of the house (the lady whom he calls Mama), was adoringly captured in a small picture—a photograph which was leaning on the coffee table’s centre-piece, deep-purple vase. Simon couldn’t help but find the sweet, laugh-a-lot toddler endearing—so much so, in fact, that Simon decided to take the picture of little William. Simon hopped up onto the coffee-table, took the picture gently into his feral-feline mouth and then trotted off to Mama’s room, laying it down onto her also-beige carpeted floor.
Who needs a camera? Simon somewhat-smugly, rhetorically asked himself. Not me!
