A tough audience

I woke up this morning and stumbled into the bathroom. I turned on the radio and got the shower running. Lincoln and Ellie Bean wound their way around my ankles, and Trumie burrowed in bed, burying and discovering his rubber dinosaur.

As I dug through my closet, my favorite song came on the radio. I couldn't help myself. I sang along.

My singing is not unlike the sound of baby calves being injured. My voice finds notes that were previously unknown to mankind. Come to think of it, I could have a career as a goat caller in the mountains of Croatia. There, goat calling talent is assessed on how discordant you can make your voice in comparison to your fellow goat callers.

I led up to the chorus and then really let loose.

My cats took off running from the room, slipping onto their haunches in their haste to exit my presence.

But it was my favorite song! I wasn't going to let some hecklers spoil the fun. I sidled up to Trumie on my bed and gazed into his eyes as I sang. I held onto him good and snug, just in case he...started to slip off the bed or something.

He looked at me, desperation creeping into his big, brown eyes. Please. You say you love me. Please.

I sighed and released him to find cover with the cats.

A spider ducked out from behind my door. I still had an audience! I didn't stop to consider that perhaps it was my singing that scared the spider out of hiding. I had an audience.

I finished the song with great gusto and thanked my audience for being so loyal. It's the fans that make it all worthwhile.

Then I stepped on him.