Clancy was a bloodsport type of cat. If no other cat or dog were available to pick on, he'd pick on me.
Down the corridor, a contest was going on between the Grey Menace and his buddy the double clawed Jean LeFoot. It was similar to the human "game" of one punch - give me your best shot, except with paws. They were very bored.
The Cap'n kept his finances close to his chest, so to say. In a small locked chest below his desk.
I've probably never met a finnan haddie I hadn't liked
When I landed my first actual professional job after grad school, it was not a berth for a practicing ( applied) anthropologist. I had to bend, twist, spindle, and mutilate it into one.
"Wes, there is no excuse. It's the proverbial choice of the Lady or the tiger."
Traveling with the Gray Menace was always an enjoyable "treat."
I was the subject of that stare again. It was the same my father used. It said, "don't even think about giving me any guff about this."
Sunsets are an evanescent part of life. They come, linger a moment, and then are gone.
Once upon a time, in a city near Boston, I worked as a practicing anthropologist. Among my projects was a documentary of a local Saint's Societies annual festival. Lights, parades, bands, the Saints marched through the streets; it was an exciting event. A vacant lot provided space to set up a complete carnival with rides and booths.