A Mid-Summer Night's Prickle!

During those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer; those days of snoozing and mousing and burrs, there was much rustling and snorting neath the bushes in the nightime garden.
Sir Millhouse and Lord Hercules are sat upon the flagstones listening intently.

Sir Millhouse: Hark my lord! There it is again! Tweak thine sharp ear t'ord y'on Hoster. 'Tis a scary sound, doth, no doubt, foster the coming of some midnight monster!

Lord Hercules: True, it is of an eerie nature portending of some unknown creature. Think you we should cut and run or wait awhile? It may be fun!

Sir Millhouse, with a worried look, shuddered a little and shook his foot. The rustle gets louder and more intense. A shadow is seen against the fence.

Sir Millhouse: See there, my Lord, I glimpsed a little.
His fur stood up. His backbone prickled.

Lord Hercules: Ay there it was. Now crossing the lawn. 'Tis round and pointy; horse-chesnut form.

Sir Millhouse: Yes, it stops and munches. Slugs and snails methinks it crunches. Yuek! I can think of better lunches.

Lord Hercules, curiosity tickled, creeps up upon the thing of prickles. He looks quite closely, to find a face. It takes a while to find the place. Then they both jump; a great surprise, finding themselves set eyes to eyes. He holds out a paw of cordial greeting; an ambiguous cat-sign of a friendly meeting.

Lord Hercules: Ouch! There was no need of that for I'm a friendly pussy cat. I don't think that we've met before. Pray tell your name, and mind my paw.

Snout: No, we've not met. My name's Snout. Now please excuse' what I'm about. There is so much to be done and I can't keep talking to everyone.

He snuffles off under the Wisteria, leaving both their lordships feeling a might inferior.

Lord Hercules: Well, Sir Millhouse, what an encounter! He was curt, arrogant; the cheeky bounder! He pricked my paw without being sorry! How different it would be were he warm and furry!

Sir Millhouse: Hmmmm! Methinks that's true. Not many get the better of you.


Herkspeare