Crumbs

CRUMBS by Francis Edwards.

Joe Crowe grumbled to his mate Sybil “I know we are only hangers on and live on the top deck of the ‘good ship’ ‘Steepleton Manor’ but surely we are entitled to some thought and consideration.”

“Yes dear” answered his long-suffering mate, by now used to his witherings and twitterings. “These people don’t really understand us, how can they. We may live in the same environment and enjoy the same freedom, peace and tranquillity of the Manor grounds but as someone, whose name I cannot remember said, East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet.”

“That’s very well” retorted Joe amazed at Syl’s erudition. “You baffle me with your verbosity.” Syl blinked at his riposte and continued nibbling at her breakfast toast.

“There are twelve of us in the family and I have to pick an old fart like you who is always complaining but never does anything.” Still, I could have done a lot worse.

They had been on their annual ‘walk about’ flying in season to their favourite haunt and back. Little had changed in their absence.
There had been a few more ancient, white-haired bodies ambling around the beautiful gardens, two rabbits gambolled about, doves and a grey squirrel showed themselves. There were fewer geese and ducks and a new vehicle she had heard people call a Carrier that departed regularly on ‘outings’, another word outside her vocabulary. There was no evidance of bustle but a quite flow of activity and comradeship that permeated the atmosphere of the Residential Home.

Syl was glad she lived on the Manor and reminded Joe of the advantages and benefits they had come to rely on.

“We are fed, we have our own quarters, no one interferes with us, we are as free as the wind.”
“All right” said Joe “I will grant you all that and even flying down to pick up breakfast is not back-breaking but I wish, that sometimes someone would be a little more thoughtful and vary our diet instead of the eternal bits of broken up toast that is regularly deposited on the bird table. If I could write I would leave a note saying:

“A little cake occasionally would be nice,
but I know beggars cannot be choosers.”
Signed Joe Crowe.

Syl was not a praying sort but thought a little kind reading might push a resident into donating some cake or biscuit crumbs. Lets see!!