(a day later then I had planned on posting this - just turn the clocks back to Easter Monday)

Mjolnir stretched in the pool of sunlight spilling over the porch. It was *good* to be back in the holler again. As a cat, home was (of course) wherever he decided to light a spell; but the holler was special, and not just for duties sake. He'd spent most of the previous day pacing the bounds, checking the property and inspecting the house.

Kathy was still inside this morning - yesterday's excusrion had taken a bit more out of her then she or Mjolnir had expected. He should have accompianied her, and was a bit irritated with himself for allowing her grandson to evict him from the cab of the truck before they started off. Sometimes even a cat with his experience didn't have all the answers. Funny how the two-legs, with all their differences and all their silly superstitions and customs and play-acting and all; somehow they still managed to find and follo the path. Mjolnir even thought sometimes that some people, at least some of those who were most associated with the holler, had almost as much sensability as cats. The holler even seemed to effect some lesser species.

He planned on a trip up to the burying ground himself in a day or two; before the moon waned fully he would seranade Ol' Duke in the moonlight and shadows of the night. It's not as if the hound had chosen to be canine, and he had been a long time resident of the holler. For a dog, he hadn't been a bad companion, and he might even be worthy of rebirth as a cat.