OtterSummer 8.32-OtterLess

breaking door down
Nobody broke down The Grand Otter’s door this morning. The Muse needed to be in early and I was running late, carrying a morning full of obligations. I figured I would just let her snooze. Returning an hour later, I made a lot of extra noise in the kitchen before disappearing out into the steeping humidity again. I decided she wouldn’t want to tag along, anyway, it being so darned hot and me wearing the short leash.

I returned well before noon and grabbed an early lunch. Still no sign of our slumbering ward. The drive gave me plenty of time to reflect: two weeks from this morning will be the morning after the end of this Otter Summer. My would-be side kick will have disappeared back into a temperate climate and some intemperate circumstances, and my influence, meager though it seems today, will shrink to much less than any arm’s length trying to stretch across a sizeable continent.

This stinking swamp seems the least likely place for anything to flourish now that the malarial mosquitoes have been vanquished. We’re left with chilled rooms, doors that cannot be opened except for quick flashes through, and remarkably narrowing walls. Not even the birds dance around the back forty these afternoons, and the cats languish and melt more deeply into the bedclothes. This season seems eminently sleep-throughable.

So I let The Otter sleep while I chop up yet another batch of good, fresh salsa, her signature breakfast, lunch, and supper this Otter Summer, while I try to find a restaurant for our supper tonight. An old friend’s in town, a man The Otter calls Willy Wonka because he always comes bearing chocolate. By three o’clock I still haven’t heard a noise from her lair, so I finally knock to find her awake and texting. “Is this the first time you’ve tried to wake me today, David?”

”Yup. I thought I’d just let you sleep,” I said as I announced the fresh salsa and quietly closed the door.

She’ll be rushing to make herself presentable enough in the final minutes before we trudge out to the Metro to make our supper date, and she’ll whine most all of the way there. She will light up and sprint for a hug when Mr. Wonka appears, though, and bask in his long-overdue presence.

I will spend at most a couple of hours with The Otter today, and much of that time in proximity more than presence, yet I’m confident I’ll savor two short weeks from today the memory of her dozing behind that closed door.

©2013 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved









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