Early Riser

Miss Kitty, an early riser, saddled up Miss Patches and rode to Harold and Miles’ cabin. She loved the cadence of the horse, the sound of shod hooves hitting the ground, the cool morning dew sparkling like a thousand reflections of glass, and the soft fog, which she realized was from a raging fire in Washington, that sifted the morning light into miniscule rainbows. She wasn’t sure what Miles was prattling about on the smart phone. Something about a parlor guitar, a fiddle, and Fiddlin` Red. She wished she could bring her friends to town to meet Red; she was certain they would all get along splendidly.

She arrived at the cabin, and tied Miss Patches to a post. “Sorry Patches, but this will be a short visit. You stand here like a lady and behave.”

Miss Patches snorted, which sounded like Sidney Greenstreet’s laugh.

Harold himself, half materialized, met her at the door.

“Good morning, Miss Kitty,” Harold said. “We need your assistance desperately.”

Miles, perched on the tip-top of his bookcase, rolled his eyes.

“Harold,” Miles said, “Stop being so dramatic.”

Kitty, looking up at Miles, and then at Harold, said, “What’s he saying?”

Harold, attempting to act dashing and debonair, tried to guide Miss Kitty in to the room by grabbing her elbow. Unfortunately, his hand slipped through Miss Kitty’s elbow.

“Oh my,” Miss Kitty said. “That feels so cold.”

Harold, collecting himself and adjusting his head, said, “Miles says that we have an extreme musical instrument emergency. We need Fiddlin` Red.”

Miles stamped his foot on the bookcase. “Harold, if you are not going to interpret my words correctly, than don’t interpret at all.”

“Wouldn’t that be plagiarizing,” Harold said.

“What are you two talking about,” Miss Kitty said.

“We are discussing lyrics to a song,” Harold said, his eyes materializing crimson as he glared at Miles.

“Boys,” Miss Kitty said, “unfortunately, I am on a timeline this morning. I need to exercise Miss Patches, water my garden, make arrangements for 3 tons of hay, and get into town for my fiddle lesson. So, stay focused. What’s up with the instruments?”

Miles turned his tail to Harold, deciding it was time for a nice snooze.

Harold completely ignored him. “I think something is wrong with the fiddle Miles bought on EBay, and I was hoping you could take it to Fiddlin` Red. And ask him to order a Washburn Parlor guitar for me.”

“Sure,” Miss Kitty said. “I’ll stop by on my way to town to pick up the fiddle, and I’ll talk to Red about the parlor guitar. Miles, have a nice nap.”