Channeling a Great American Song Writer today with this modest offering.

The setup: We have a semi-tame crow named Caw who always sounds off for peanuts when he sees us in the back or front yard. And we have an eight year old perpetual kitten named Oak. Came into the living room, saw the following and put it into lyrics for a song rip-off I call:

Suburban Homespun Blahs

It goes like this:

Caw’s on the front porch pickin at the kitty plates,
Oak’s at the screen door trying to transubstaniate.

Look out cat,
You know where it’s at.
God knows what,
but you’re sittin on your butt.

Apologies to Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues