Mighty Fred

You don’t mess with mighty Fred France.

From the tip of his pointy head

To the bottom of his pants

He’s bad you see,

From knee to knee

No, you don’t mess with mighty Fred France.

Miles, he longed for the bright orange ear plugs, and dreamed of riding Miss Patches up the dirt road, over the farmer’s fields, along the cedar path, and to the pond where Miss Kitty claimed she went skinny dipping on the hottest days of summer. But no, Miles felt as trapped as Harold the Ghost, who sat on the rocking chair, strumming the banjo and screeching out his newest lyrics.

Miles sighed. He hoped Miss Kitty would come by for a visit, with her fiddle, of course. He printed out a note for her, asking her to bring her fiddle so that the three of them could play some more old timey music. Miles tail started drumming in 6/8 time, thinking about a jig he had written about a ninja cat.

Of course, thinking about cats always made Miles sad. It was Little Jamie that devoured his cousin, Buck, and it was Bugs, a humongous checkered cat with white whiskers and a stubby tail, that had killed the love of his life, the riveting Matilda with the reddish fur and the delightful nose.

“Miles, what do you think about the new song?”

For once, Miles was glad to have his thoughts interrupted by Harold’s moaning. Thinking about cats…