Is this a tennis ball I see before me,
The curve toward my teeth? Come, let me catch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, gorgeous vision, chewable
And catchable in flight? or art thou but
A figment of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from a ball-obsessed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as chaseable
As any that she throws.
Thou marshall’st me the way that I will run;
And such a plaything I am keen to chase.
Mine eyes may play the fool but other senses,
Are better than the rest; I smell thee still,
And on thy surface, green and pristine fluff,
Which will not be so long…
(*Editor’s note… my profound apologies, on Ani’s behalf, to William Shakespeare and Macbeth…)
She bribed me.
About time too, I haven’t had a new ball in ages...
‘Pparently it is a great British institution, this tennis ball business. She says that’s why she can’t get me many at present… ‘cause they all sold out. She also says that seeing as how this Wimbledon thingy has finished, there should soon be more balls around for me and more strawberries for her… we share the cream…
Which is just as well, ‘cause I reckon she owes me a bit of compensation. She’s off again already… barely been back two minutes, and all she’s been doing is buzzing around like a fly then collapsing like a squashed spider… “Won’t be long, whirly girl,” she says. Yeah. Right.
So I packed my bag and I’ve left home.
Well, okay, I’ve gone to stay with Hardy and Gooch again for a couple of days…And she needn’t think I will be having fun, playing chase and snuggling with the two-legs pup. I shall be miserable (at least, that’s what I’ll tell her) and I won’t eat (much…) and she will have to stump up the tennis balls and chicken when she gets back…
So I will try to keep my eye on the ball while she’s away…
But I may be too busy chasing it…
Much love, Ani xxx