The cat walked across the worn wooden floor, stopping now and then to sniff at a stain, looking for tasty spills. It had already caught the Guinness-emboldened mouse, ate the tasty bits and was scrounging around for a bit more to fill its tummy. A slash of sunlight shone through the one grimy window at the back of the dim room, lighting on a huge old elaborately carved oak bar, running the length of one side, with chairs and tables filling the rest of the space. A small stage sat catty-corner near the front door.

Here, cat! What're you doin' in here! C'mon, now, go on, move outta the way a compact red-haired woman came in with a long-handled pushbroom, waving one arm at the cat and making hissy noises. She held the back door open for it to go out on the screened-in back porch. The cat sat on the floor, casually lifted one foot for a tongue wash, then the other. Go on, I said! She propped the broom against the wall and clapped her hands at the cat. With a look that could kill, the cat hip-hopped to the back door, in little skittering steps, totally disgusted with the woman's lack of good manners.

As she closed the door and went back to cleaning, other folks began to come in. Someone went behind the bar and started setting up full bottles, clean glasses, fresh fruit. Another went out back to fill the jello pit and get the BBQ going. (Above the jello pit was a hand-lettered sign which read THONGS OPTIONAL)Still others set their instrument cases near the stage, opened them and began tuning up, ready for a day of jamming.

The banner sign out front read:

COME ONE, COME ALL JAM TAVERN OPEN!!

NO Karaoke - ALL Acoustic - Folkies Need Apply!

As the sweeper pushed her broom and polished the tables, she heard the first few strums on a mellow six-string and thought, Ah...this is gonna be FUN!