Never mind that I was preparing a place of honor for her at the new and improved Cathy C. Hall writing home. She ran away from home home (without so much as a by your leave, I might add). But I got up bright and early this morning to track her down. Because neither a leaking pipe (which I found in the basement) nor HUGE spider webs (which I found in the other part of the basement), nor stinky shoes (which I found in the closet) could keep me from my appointed er, appointment with Gladys.
Finally, I looked outside and found Gladys plopped in the garden (Granted, it’s not much of a garden. But then I’m not much of a gardener). Apparently, Gladys had decided she would be better appreciated in the garden, as a “ScareGoose”, rather than in my office as a Muse.
And I don’t suppose I need to tell you who was out there, egging her on? Cathy-on-a-Stick, that’s who.
Despite my pleas, Gladys refused to budge– and I had a luncheon date. But as soon as I returned, I tromped back outside to the garden to try again. Whereupon I found Gladys (and Cathy-on-a-Stick) up to entirely new shenanigans (I suspected all along that garden gig wouldn’t last).
Can you imagine? Where they found that magazine, I’ll never know. (But I suspect that the Beneficent Mr. Hall was somehow involved. He has always had a soft spot for plastic animals.)
Well, I gave Gladys a firm talking to. “Gladys,” I said, “if you want to be a Muse, you have to show up every day. Every day, Gladys. Not just when you feel like it. You can’t go getting your feelings hurt everytime things don’t work out the way you want them to go. Writing is a tough business,” I said. “But when the going gets tough, the tough get going! So, who’s with me?”
(I was pretty much stealing Bluto’s Big Speech from Animal House, minus the expletives, of course.)
That Gladys is one heckuva muse. When I came back from the bathroom, guess where I found her?
And then I found Miss Cathy-on-a-Stick.
Shame, shame, Cathy-on-a-Stick.