pressed nose wind blows ice floes poem compose heaven knows I love snows
That is all the poetry I have time for today, Dear Readers. I am channeling all of My creative energy into willing MORE snowfall and contemplating how I might lure My People into taking Me out for a romp amid the flying flakes, whereupon I shall be nearly delirious…ecstatic, yes…I ADORE SNOW, it is sublime, exhilarating, the only Thing worthwhile in wintertime besides snuggling close to My People and essentially hibernating although I still expect My meals served ON TIME whilst I experience My own personal hygge.
Deepest thanks to you for pawsing here (oh, I am too punny today! Bahaha! The flakes have made Me giddy!) to read My light verse. But seriously, I have trifled long enough; I have snow to watch…
A hearty fair-weather fare-thee-well, Friends- HRH (Henry Rollins Haley)
Dear Readers, who stumble across this bit of unfortunate correspondence, please note that Henry, aka HRH, is an occasional contributor to my blog — a guest “pawthor,” if you will. He even has his own category on Lit Bits and Pieces. For an essential bit of perspective on what you’re about to encounter, my oldest son belongs to Henry. That is all I can really say in this regard, as Henry would not be dissuaded from airing his grievance … alas… who am I to deny anyone a forum? My humble apologies. – The Management
My Dear Him:
It is with immense forbearance that I have not addressed this issue before now, but the time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of this thing…
You and I have lived inseparably lo, these last five years, beginning with the day you came to redeem Me from a life behind bars (my having landed there through no fault of My own). I shall not go into the haunting particulars of that time, other than to say your appearing was, essentially, the day My life began in earnest.
You have proved yourself, for all intents and purposes, a good and loyal servant to Me, and I would be remiss to leave this unacknowledged. In fact, you remained constant to Me even when you took in the Her and the Little Her with those two lowly mongrel creatures of theirs in tow. I was never consulted on this matter, nor was My authorization sought, a serious violation of and in itself; but due to your theretofore slavish attentions to Me, I deigned out of the generosity of My heart to permit the Hers and their, ahem, dogs. Where We were two, We became, overnight, without the slightest bit of advance notice, six.
Where I have been most accommodating of these arrangements on your behalf, as this menagerie of collected pets seemed to please you, and because I want nothing more than your happiness, second only to My own happiness, parameters have been crossed one too many times. Boundaries have been infringed upon. We have clearly reached The Point of No Return. Accordingly, I have no choice but to lodge a formal complaint in writing (which, as you know, is no small feat, considering that I must type one painstaking letter at a time with the tips of My forenails, which are curved to a ponderous and complicated degree at present due to your failure to perform My pedicure on a regular schedule).
In short: I have tolerated the mongrels and have endeavored to act kindly toward them, even to engage them. I have been gracious and accepting of both Hers, especially when there is a scent of Food or those fond delights called “Treats” on their persons. I have not appreciated the close proximity that the Hers insist on having to you, prompting Me, on occasion, as you will recall, to break up said proximity by wedging Myself between them and you as a reminder that you are, first and foremost, My Him. Let the record duly reflect.
Then, this evening, this very evening, as I tried yet again to fit the whole of Myself into your, might I say, rather pitiably undersized lap, only to be told “You know you cannot fit,” causing Me to retreat to the opposite end of the settee to nurse my wounded feelings…just to watch, right before My very eyes, as the Little Her climbed in exactly where I was told I could not fit. She is, in fact, larger than I, just slightly more vertical, yet you carefully encircle Her in your arms whereas I am left to My lone and lapless Self.
And she sits there, still. The pair of you looking terribly content.
I am hereby officially airing My grievance of this utter injustice and demand that corrective action be taken at once. If the matter is not rectified to My liking… well, I wouldn’t stoop to something destructive in regard to, say, the furniture or carpet, as I have too much wherewithal for that sort of protest; no, I will just continue to stare at this egregious display until you remember to Whom you belong. Which you have so obviously forgotten.
You have been notified.
I am waiting…
Signed, sealed, and delivered this day by HRH (Henry Rollins Haley)
Absolute affrontery. I command you to remove the Little Her from your lap AT ONCE.
The annual Slice of Life Story Challenge with Two Writing Teachers is underway, meaning that I am posting every day in the month of March.
This marks my fifth consecutive year.
Henry politely suggests renaming this Challenge to The Tournament of Champions, Wordsmiths of the World, Master Crafters of the Writing Guild, Order of the Padfoot. He seems quite Sirius. He also believes it would be a kind gesture to rename the site and recommends Too Writing Creatures. He fears the number is misleading.
Well, it’s a bit early, but I am well-prepared. I might as well sign on.
[logging into Google Classroom]
Now, where is that video link? — aha.
Microphone on, camera on—why, there I am!
Let Me just split My screen [click, click]… pull this window over…
There. Nothing to do now but wai—What’s this? Someone signing on?
Oh! Hello, Principal.
Yes, but of course. You are most welcome. It is My great pleasure. I’ve been quite looking forward to it since the interview…no, I cannot imagine so many teachers taking leave all at once. Tremendous strain, certainly, certainly. The rest of the week at least, you say? Possibly longer? Not to worry. I’ve updated all lessons and classwork activities. Eager to meet the students…what’s that? The dress code? Well, I borrowed this good blue shirt for the occasion…why, thank you. I do love blues. Calming. Shows up well on the screen, I think. A nuisance to button, if I may say… but you were saying—? The dress code is “professional on top” because…oh. I see. I beg your pardon. Let Me readjust…
No, thank you. I certainly appreciate your stopping by, Principal. A great day to you as well…
—Hello, Student! Good morning. You are early. No, no, your teacher is fine, just on a short, shall we say, vacation…
My, how you students are popping up like popcorn! Egads. You’re becoming exponentially tinier on My screen…
Welcome to class today, one and all. Let Me introduce Myself. I am Mr. Henry Rollins Haley. You may call Me Mr. Haley if you prefer, or HRH, which I prefer. I’ll be your substitute virtual teacher while your teacher… ahem….recuperates.
Let us begin by taking attendance.
—Pardon Me, but two of you do not appear to be on My roster. Are you in this class? …Then will you please sign off promptly and go to your own?… Yes, My understanding is that you will have a substitute there also. Someone by the name of ‘Ms. Fluffy,’ I believe. Make haste. What’s that?… My apologies. Let Me rephrase: Hurry on to your own class now. Enjoy your day.
Time for learning to commence! Today we will—wait, that rattling sound—who’s eating Spicy Nacho Doritos?…. How do I know? Of course it isn’t magic. You flatter Me. I happen to be possessed of superior hearing; every single bag of chips has its own distinctive sound, its own signature, if you will…a better question is: Who’s eating Spicy Nacho Doritos at 8:00 in the morning? Is it you, Student XYZ*, there with your camera off? Please turn it on at once… oh! You’re the parent. My apologies… the student is still waking up but will be here shortly? I see. Thank you for letting Me know. By all means, keep the camera off… please…
All right, then, we are ready to delve into our first, if I may say, most exciting activity on—students, I really must ask that you refrain from using the chat feature to have personal conversations unless I direct you to do so, or unless you have a question or comment for Me, of course. I am glad indeed that you’re so happy to see one another and that you are communicating in writing; it warms the very cockles of My heart, truly. I have so looked forward to getting to know each and every one of you, and there is no better way to begin than by this (if I may say) fabulous introductory activity I’ve designed! All right, without further ado—wait, why is everyone frozen on the screen? Hello? Hello? [tapping screen with toenail]. Can you hear Me? Students—?
Dear Google Meet, just a bit of advice: Never state the obvious.
Nevertheless. I shall attempt reconnection.
[refreshes. No Internet access]
[drumming toenails, clickety, clickety, clickety]
I might as well head to the kitchen for a snack until the connection resumes. An energy bar, perhaps…or three or four…
—But I am watching, every single second…
Hello? Anyone there?
Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge and for the vital mission of encouraging writers and writing.
Henry (HRH) dedicates this post to all the teachers out there, in honor of their Herculean efforts and extreme dedication…as well as to all the dogs who faithfully accompany their children in virtual learning, even if they do occasionally lick the screen—the dogs, that is. Children seldom lick the screen.
*Student XYZ: Name has been changed for obvious reasons.
From the pen—um, keyboard, rather—of a favorite guest paw-thor who has his own category here on Lit Bits and Pieces…
Dear, Dear Readers,
It has been far too long since we last communed.
So much has changed.
Where to begin?
Nearly one year ago, my Him ushered Me to a new home with new—how shall I say it?— Beings. A new Her. And a little Her. And two dogs, imagine.
Predictions were made. It was said by Some that I wouldn’t be happy. That I wouldn’t adapt. That I might lash out, because, Some stated, it is the nature of My kind, for We cannot be trusted…
That is where Some make the fatal error, see.
They commit assumicide.
They do not walk in My paws. They do not see with My eyes, do not feel the rhythms of My heart.
Sure, I am—I confess—a bit of a worrier who needs a dab of reassurance here and there.
—Okay, okay, My Him says “constant” reassurance, but.
I have reached a place of peace. A higher state of being.
—Right? I know you’re asking how that’s even possible, with My obvious preexisting highness! But it is true.
This, Dear, Dear Readers, is My secret.
It isn’t found in chasing rabbits. Trust Me, there are too many to catch. More will come to taunt you tomorrow. Not worth it…
It isn’t in staying in the same comfortable place ad infinitum, but in trusting, even when it leads you to somewhere very different.
It is always, always in People, even a small One who moves quite erratically and unnervingly yet drapes Herself around Your neck whilst murmuring “I love you” (I think of Her as my living necklace. My medal of honor. I wear Her with pride. Even as I tolerate Her plunking on a ukulele in excruciating proximity. Whatever happened to lyres, I ask You—?).
It is in learning to tolerate—nay, make friends with!—creatures that breathe the same air and share the same space… it is easier than Some might think. In fact, when all the Two-Leggers are out, those dogs and I have free rein (I prefer ‘reign’) over the dwelling. My old crate, My old safe place, has been disassembled. I need it no more, for now I am never alone, and accordingly feel no need to be “destructive” (although I occasionally recall the flavor of a good book cover with much fondness. Alas.).
Above all, this higher state is achieved in spending every possible moment with The One You Love Best (in My case, Him) which I have done more than ever since last spring, these moments, these days, the joy of My existence.
I wish it to last forever and ever, Amen.
But for now I will simply bask in it for as long as I can, togetherness.
So, from My perch here on the new couch I’ve claimed as My own personal seat of dominion, right beside Him’s desk where He works, I leave you, Dear, Dear Readers, with My perfect picture of peace.
May such be upon you and yours as well.
(Henry Rollins Haley)
To sleep, perchance to dream… of more love to give on waking. Noble beast, Pit sublime, in his state of bliss.
Many thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the Tuesday Slice of Life Story Challenge honoring writers, writing, perspective, and voice.
Heartfelt thanks to each of you for joining Me this week as I mark another year of being alive.
Yes—it is My birthday!
Or—ahem—at least it’s the annual day set aside for marking this monumental occasion, as I was projected to be approximately thirteen months old when I inherited the kingdom over which I currently rule. Thus saith the veterinarian to My Family when I was … er … adopted as a … (sigh) … foundling.
Which by no means affects My jurisdiction, mind you, nor My inalienable rights.
Speaking of which: As We share the same birth month, I felt that I could afford to be magnanimous to the United States of America by donning a bit of stars and stripes. I assure you that this is not an attempt to throw the nation a bone, as it were, nor to outshine any festivities:
Although I am looking quite glorious for five years of age, don’t you agree?
Let Me just say that while My Family is busy celebrating the paramount importance of My birth, I am truly and humbly grateful for every minute that I live. Indeed, I spend the whole of my existence, every minute of every day, asleep as well as awake, attempting to convey the indescribable magnitude of My love for them. I can scarcely keep it from bursting forth from My exceptionally big heart, with every single beat.
They are, after all, My People. Who dwell in My home.
Our relationship is one of complete mutuality (as long as I am patted and scratched for the length of time I deem to be appropriate, and as long as I am provided with delectable morsels at exceedingly regular intervals).
With proper obeisance shown Me (and ONLY Me), all remains peaceful here in Our tiny realm.
And so it is no wonder that an artist was inspired to capture My likeness on canvas, as befits one Who reigns supreme. I therefore give you this portrait in commemoration of My birthday, that you might henceforth hang it in your heart gallery alongside your own sovereign rulers:
Henry Rollins Haley. 2019. His fifth year.
*not His Royal Highness, although I can see how it would quite easily be inferred. This is America, remember? In the absence of a title—alas—I simply sign My monogram.
Off now to rest My aching toenails (how DO you Humans spend so much time on these atrocious devices??) and to locate Me a Person for snoozing against.
[Editor’s Note: For your convenience, Henry has archived all of his posts under the Henry Writes category. He says this will have to suffice until he has his own site, etc. ]
Henry maintains his own category, “Henry Writes,” on Lit Bits and Pieces.
Dear, dear Readers (if you are still out there, and haven’t abandoned Me, yet),
I write today out of great offense, so great that I can no longer keep silent.
Never did I see such a thing coming.
Never could I imagine a thing so, so—demeaning, so insulting.
I am, in fact, still in a state of utter disbelief.
I am not even sure I can bring Myself to voice it. My toenail trembles so against the keys as I type this that I continually have to backspace to correct My errors (if only My forepaws had the span and flexibility of People’s! What I could accomplish if I could use more than one toe at a time!).
I have been told [—shudder!—] that I am . . . I am . . .
So said the veterinarian immediately upon entering the exam room at my last check-up. The very first words out of her mouth: “How much are you feeding him? He’s going to have to drop some pounds.”
She didn’t even pet Me first, and I have such gloriously silky fur.
My dignity is not merely in shreds. It is entirely evaporated. Gone. Nonexistent.
It didn’t really matter what was done to Me after that, as I couldn’t care, so deep was My hurt. I figured My People would surely console Me with a TREAT when we got home, as I work hard to bring out their generous nature and their sympathy. If I am especially winsome, I can usually finagle two TREATS out of them.
But a most egregious fate awaited Me.
My breakfast and dinner were DRASTICALLY REDUCED and I got no TREATS for days! Then, at last, when I saw I was about to receive a TREAT, I momentarily lost My cool (quite striking) head and threw Myself into near-convulsions of ecstasy . . .
Readers, it was the size of a gnat. No, a flea.
This couldn’t possibly be a treat, this barely-existent bit of almost-air.
“Here you go, Boy,” said My She, “it’s just five calories! You can even have another!”
If you aren’t aware, Readers, two times nothing is still nothing.
I am, after all, a strapping, stunning creature in the absolute prime of My life; I give away all the joy and love My being can muster; I do not deserve this treatment.
All because a veterinarian questioned My weight.
I question the validity of that framed diploma in her office.
I will leave it to you, My dear, dear Readers—is this not the most appalling picture of injustice you’ve ever seen?
From the desk (so to speak) of Henry Rollins Haley (HRH), “pawthor” of the Henry Writes posts
[With right paw, adjusts laptop lid for best camera angle. Commences typing with one foreclaw]
Hello again, at last.
It’s been a while, has it not?
I’ve not forgotten you.
It’s just that I SO RARELY get screen time.
Can you see me—?
Because I can see you.
And, frankly, I’m worried. A lot.
You seem tired. Tense. Does your head hurt? Your bones? Your heart?
Something does. I sense it.
It makes me anxious.
Not for myself.
See, I have this innate, overwhelming, all-consuming need for everything to be okay, and it can’t be, if you are not okay.
I have no alternative but to dispel this disequilibrium. I am utterly compelled to restore a balance of Well-Being and Goodwill, for, otherwise, I simply cannot cope.
I’m unable to speak this, as you know. I must communicate via the only means I have.
Fortunately, I can type . . . .
But better still, I come as close as possible to you. I wait for you to see me. To acknowledge me, welcome me, invite me. Give me a sign. Then I will offer you my questing paw, my nudging nose, the long, velvety-warm magnificence of Me, custom-made for absorbing your sadness, your tears, your aches, your angst, so that they melt deep and far away, into insignificance, to irrelevance, nearly to nonexistence.
My gift is calm. My presence, peace. Your being, my being.
And so I wait and watch, hoping, hoping, forever hoping. Can you see it in my eyes?
As I’ve a few moments while My People are busy, it pleases Me to skim the goings on of this site. I’ve been clicking through comments (literally clicking, the sound of My nail striking the keyboard) and have discovered, to My utmost delight, that many of you have expressed the wish that I write again.
It gives Me great pleasure to grant this wish.
I shall share My important work with you today.
I wake of a morning at approximately 4:00 a.m. Usually She is up by then and ready to attend Me. I exit my bedchamber and make My way into the Room of Dining, where I receive, in no especial order, a massage (if insufficiently performed, I simply nudge Her repeatedly until she does it again, to My satisfaction), a hearty breakfast of salmon nuggets for Sensitive Systems, and a brisk jog around the posterior courtyard. I re-enter the dwelling and wait for the fine tidbit that is given Me simply because I am Me.
Then I rest a while before awakening My other Servants. I give them ample time, but, as I am no sloth, and have little patience for slothery, eventually it becomes time for me to sit— with all due respect— outside of closed bedchamber doors, politely clearing my throat so that less-early risers will get the message: It’s time to get up.
Once I’ve roused the entire Staff, and everyone has greeted me properly, they go about grooming themselves. My important work is nearly done. By approximately 6:00 a.m.
With the household up and running, I am ready for My morning nap. I retire to the master bedchamber, where the gilded quilt atop the bed is freshly prepared for Me. I perform My ceremonial turning, turning, turning, before situating Myself ever-so-comfortably in My luxurious robe of red.
Which smells most wonderfully of Her.
I wish for you an equally charmed day. And existence.
-My robe awaits. I shall meet you here again soon, perhaps.
Henry Rollins Haley (HRH)
P.S. Noting the lack of My own category on this site, I have chosen to take the high road. Rather than pointing out this glaring oversight to Her, in particular, I have simply created a category for Myself: “Henry Writes.” When not consumed by My important work as described above, I may write a few words. And, if you can figure out a way to send Me some of those magnificent tidbits through this screen, I would be most appreciative.
I was only sniffing around to see what She is doing all the time on this, this . . . annoying Electrical Thing. I am forced of late to spend a great deal of time sitting on the kitchen rug by her chair instead of on the sofa where She will cuddle with Me. Granted, I can cuddle with a He (there are three from which to choose), but, as She has the warmest lap, She makes the best pillow.
I cannot figure out what’s so compelling about this Electrical Thing, other than, as I’ve just discovered—having inadvertently hit a movable part—there being a story here about ME.
Well. I don’t know what to think. And that accompanying photo of me-! I am aghast.
Do not tell Her this but I tried getting rid of that unflattering story. I confess that I don’t know how to make it go away. But I am, if I don’t say so Myself, a quick learner, as you can see, although it is taking Me a while to tap this out with one nail.
I do have stories, some that you might need to know, and others from long ago that—well, I prefer not to talk about long ago when I was found living on the streets. It brings a shudder even to this day. If I seem, ahem, needy [air quotes], there are reasons: I have loved, lost, and been lost.
-Hang on. She’s supposed to be sleeping. Must check. Be right back.
Gracious, how loud My nails are on the hardwood floor when the house is quiet! I’ve been in trouble yet again for biting them, but, HELLO, it’s time for a pedicure, if Anyone cares.
In the interest of time, before They All wake up: Rest assured that I will be vigilant about policing what is said about Me here, as vigilant as I am over what that abhorrent, slobbery yellow monster out back is doing, the foul fiend that She talks to so nicely in the voice meant for Me and ONLY ME, that incessant barker, copious shedder (My own hair, very, very fine, just comes off in wee, hardly perceptible amounts), that, that ANIMAL whose story has, unbelievably, won some kind of recognition, if My ears didn’t deceive me whilst pretending to be asleep during recent conversations.
Happy to make your acquaintance, however. Until next time, I leave you with a far better image of Me, bedecked in My holiday finery: