Tunnelling through armoured thoughts

Bessy tunnelled under the house last night. It would appear she was looking for the firefly that had stolen the thought she was having when Margaret put her out to relieve herself before bed. Margaret followed her through the tunnel and sang songs about restless cities crying for the greenery they'd left behind. Needless to say, I was kept awake.

Felix commented that stolen thoughts are on the rise along with all sorts of other antisocial behaviour. The secret is to guard one's thoughts by remaining silent about them. I said that sounded like he'd just revealed a thought, to which he replied that I was the one putting my thoughts in danger. It felt a little like ping pong, so I drank my tea in silence.

George once built a tunnel underneath the Atlantic because he had been told the bedrock was a good place to grow a beard, which at that time appealed to him. I asked him this morning if burrowing somehow helped him retrieve stolen thoughts. He looked at me sternly and said that in this world people ought to be more happy to share their thoughts so nobody feels compelled to steal them. I asked if he'd like to hear a thought of mine. He said there was some filing to do and left me standing at the desk.

Cookie was standing on the dental chair. She said there was a plane of interesting information at that level, she'd recently discovered, and she was listening in. I asked if she was stealing thoughts. There's no need to protect thoughts, she said, with armour. I'm sure that's a good metaphor, but I've no idea how it related to my question.

Which brings me back to the way I lost the thought I was having before Bessy lost hers. I had hoped this blog would help, but it hasn't. But then, there are always other thoughts to take its place, like thinking that there's a wonderful piece of apple pie waiting for me to eat when I get home. If, that is, nobody's stolen it.