Spindle and the Tremulous Bush

This morning, Spindles sermon shall attend most vigorously to the concept of ‘Plausible Deniability’. A situation has occurred today which I am sad to say implicated me in an act of most heinous devilment. First, let us look at one meaning of the phrase. 

(The possibility of) denying a fact (especially a discreditable action) without arousing suspicion; the method of achieving this.

Apparently this phrase was first ascribed to politicians, but a Spindlehound has no real knowledge of what a ‘politician’ does really, so I can’t possibly comment. 

I shall return to this sorry tale. I must admit that I awoke on that morning with a feeling of disquiet about me. Nethertheless, I flung back the corner of my feather edged duvet and prepared to meet the morning with my usual cheerful demeanour, I performed my morning awakening routine, which involves stretching my lithe nimble limbs, yawning like a manic crocodile and shaking my sleep folds out. Best paw forward I say, so I slithered out of my four poster bed so see what was happening in Spindle Towers.

As a side note, something rather alarming seems to have happened. The tiny terror, Mistress of the house (so she thinks) seems to keep forgetting to go to work?! She arrived home last Friday, late I may add, with armfuls of flowers, gifts and a card. Wiping a soppy tear from her deranged beady eye, she flopped into a chair and announced her ‘retirement’. Retirement?? Only about 25 years too soon, but she has cited arthritis, whoever that is, and here she is. It has been a nightmare, her ever-present mooning face keeps bobbing about the place like an untethered balloon, as she crashes about the house. I had to cancel hosting the 10am Tuesday “Pole Dancing for Quadripeds” class with great haste. Anyway, once again I have digressed, Oh yes, Plausible deniability. After excusing myself to the garden for my morning sniffs and ablutions, I wandered back in to see where my breakfast was. It was then, without any warning at all, that my feeling of unease increased and developed into a sensation I can only describe as ‘most gippy’. 

With no time to produce my silken handkerchief I proceeded to lurch forwards like a possessed chicken and then followed a departing of my innards as I was sick all over the floor. This was most exhausting, which is why I staggered over to my day bed, and then when settled on it, I was accidentally sick again. I dapped daintily at my mouth with my handkerchief, burped, but then felt an awful lot better. The Mistress wandered over to see what was happening and peered at the mess. She sighed quite heavily, especially when she saw the state of my day bed. She described the mess as resembling pot noodle juice with an unidentified object laying within. She poked at the lump with a teaspoon to see if she could tell what it was, apparently “to make sure it wasn’t any of my major organs after all the racket I made”. This is where my efforts to convince her of plausible deniability began. However, it turned out to be implausible deniability as she continued her intrepid foraging with the spoon.

I must admit that I did have a bit of a sinking feeling as she poked about in it questioningly. All I could do was stand, still a bit wobbly, and in no uncertain terms deny I had any knowledge as to why, as the probed lump unravelled a bit, a little tail became visible. I expressed my utter shock at this discovery and explained hastily that I was sure it was a sock. I gesticulated wildly with my limbs, that I had absolutely no idea how a small furry animal could have possible found its way into my tummy pouch. I declared it must have found its way in when I was sleeping, as I sometimes do so with my mouth lolling open. It was uncanny. I could tell she didn’t believe me, she folded her arms in the way that only she can, and frowned at me. This it would seem was a discreditable action, a possible tarnish on my reputation as a gentile lady spindle. I could tell that her suspicion had been aroused. Bugger. In my defence it had happened in a bit of a blur. It was whilst I was out on my evening scamper that I sallied forth to investigate a twitching bush. Any hound will tell you that a trembling bush is a beguiling sight to behold. I forced my head into the middle of it and spotted a new chum. In the spirit of friendship I bent down to greet the little furry fellow, but I inadvertently inhaled much more powerfully than I meant to and it…well,,,it just shot straight down. I was powerless to help and it was all over in a flash.

Now, nature had taken its course. I thought she loved nature, she is always banging on about it. It would seem though that she just does not like it regurgitated on the kitchen floor. She stared at me, I grinned back and waved a paw to express my happiness to see her. She sighed. Time for bed after all that excitement, after breakfast though of course.


2 thoughts on “Spindle and the Tremulous Bush

  1. Don’t feel bad, Elsie. The operative word is ‘hound’, as in ‘hunter’. Sometimes we just can’t help inhaling those small furries – it’s in our nature. It’s also in the nature of a dog to be sick. For some inexplicable reason, humans seem to have a problem with vomit – they simply don’t understand there can be a positive pleasure in blowing one’s breakfast. xx

    Liked by 1 person

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