Poor Gramsci. He knows what suitcases mean (he spent some time sitting inside mine, yesterday, on top of the half-packed clothes). And then - yes - he packed himself into his traveling Sherpa bag. What he hasn't yet had a whole lot of experience in dealing with is Humans who Travel Without Him. And I'm off to England for nine days. So here he is, shut in the kitchen as I leave - and there are two precious, sad paws poking out from under the door.
It's also a photo that makes me wonder however one can refurbish a complicatedly carved wooden door - you can only see a tiny bit of that, and rather too much of the inelegant bottom part. Wherever did those scratches come from? A griffin?
No comments:
Post a Comment