Another interview with my wife, Mrs. Felicity Fenton Today is Sunday and Mrs. Fenton sits in a pile of sunshine streaming in from her studio window. She seems content and cozy in her half dirty yoga pants and pull-over sweatshirt. Her wavy auburn hair is mostly tangled and her breath smells of coffee and rabbit terrine. Her eyes are brighter than they were yesterday, and tiny balls of sand cling to her lashes.
FF - How are your November days treating you?
FF - November is a haphazard month. The days are short, an impending chill bites at my ankles and subliminal holiday singsong whistles in my ears. No matter how I protest, I haven't been able to avoid it.
FF - You could always disguise yourself.
FF - With a rogue mustache?
FF - That, a little scotch tape, leaves and all the holiday pressure will disappear.
FF - I'd call myself Mr. Autumn
FF - And what would the cats think about this?
FF - They'd watch me move from bed in the morning into a heap on the floor. They'd toss me around with sticky paws and lap up my earthy flavors with their tongues. They'd shred me to pieces and poop me out.
FF - It looks like you have found a good way to avoid the holidays.
FF - Indeed. How can I thank you enough?
FF - Just call me Sigourny from time to time.
FF - You got it Sigourny.