Pluto, the Rat and the Birds.

Beware Swearing.

Happy New Year! I said that about 8 am. I'm not sure really of that time, as the kitchen clock hands frozen at sixteen past one, and the loungroom clock hands, fast runners, said sixteen past eight.

I could not be bothered to press my phone button on, to find out the real time via satellite, as I enjoyed the quiet and solitude of the morning light, and New Year's Day is only another day. For example, if I had a partner, they would receive a kiss every morning, no extra passion on the morning of Valentine's Day! It's just another day! Maybe both New Year's Day is a global reset? Maybe Valentine's Day is a relationship reset? Who knows? My Neptune in Scorpio in the fourth house, opposition Saturn in Pisces in the eight house allows me to write my cynicism as a transformation type therapy and if cats could live a human lifetime then I am sure my Pluto in Virgo would have provided me with that- a whole of my life cat writing companion!

What is most important to me is now! On the 21st of January, Capricorn Pluto conjuncts, the Sun in Capricorn, then the Sun moves into Aquarius. Twelve hours later, Pluto ingresses into Aquarius to once again conjunct the Sun. Now that's a wacker, that's ignoramus- and- and- and that will be interesting! I'm not so interested in how the World will be impacted! NO! For Aquarius calls the individual to be responsible and independent!

What's important to me now is our skies, as World astrologer Steve Judd points out, there are repeating the exact flipside, the mirror image, of World War Two's configurations. Large debates and silent, slow head nodding from the one per cent of the world community of astrologers is occurring. As horns stop blowing, Sydney harbour Bridge is turning its festival lighting off, people have regretful headaches and lovers they want out of their beds and realise it's time to pull down the Christmas lights again. I'm glancing at divine patterns.

So, is it a Happy New Year 2024? What does the operative word "Happy" really mean? Does every New Year require you to be happy? You MUST be happy this year? Are you to be "Happy" like a hamster? Or "Happy" like a Kangaroo, or a Koala? How are they "Happy" you may ask? I answer you in my thoughts and dreaming, "I can't really answer you as to what the true state of "Happy" of a Koala or Kangaroo should be?

I switch the kettle on, as I do in all my stories; a creature of habit, I am! Lighting the mosquito coils outside, knowing the many storms have made many puddles, which are breeding grounds of mosquitos, I noticed something! Quickly. I prance securing the back screen door open.

I gaze at the neighbour's home. I wait for my phone to turn on. I shoot a video of their roof.

The Rat who had heard the rusty latch, Cling! Seeing my shadow cast on the loungeroom glass, knew this was his cue. Running through the back door, me far away and the open pantry, he felt excited. The switch on the kettle Clicks! Puffs of steam make a bubbling noise! I turn! he knows I hawk eyed him! He yelled, "You are a smoker!" Why would you shame? A control mechanism, maybe, to cause guilt and dismay, maybe Doe freeze me, so he could get the goodies and hopefully escape in one piece!

I knew this rat. Months ago, I observed him for the first time doing a scuttle from the heavily weighed branches of a sweet mandarin tree. Along the wired fence rail, he balanced himself and that delicious dessert. I did not mind! All creatures have rights! Snakes! Birds! Possums! Stray Cats! They had all made their way around the yard, sometimes into the house. I mean, I had my own boundaries, did not want most of that in my small room, that I called home. I cast my gaze at the Rat, "Yes, I am a smoker!" Nervously, its words became fast, soundless movement of jaw and lips. He tried to hide in the corner of the kitchen cupboard, after his terrorised linoleum scid. He was shaking - he feared me - felt- I would hurt him - hunt him?

The previous day, the Lord's year 2023, a clever Peewee, small black and white bird, gathered root fibres, very much similar looking to Tabacco. The small bunch of fibre was gifted near my feet, as I sat in the shade on my old cane chair- the Summer Palace. Perhaps it was Herman, saying, "Thank you for feeding me with a gift similar that really looked like Tabacco." You wouldn't read about it, right? A bird saying like Oliver Twist pleading, "Please, Miss..." Because in those times, Ms was an unknown, an unheard of address! " ...Can I have some more food and slipping me some Tabacco?" A bird's non-judgemental judgement of keen eye, of observing the texture of, colour of fibre of, Tabacco and duplicating that to give me pleasure, same. same, as the meat piece it devoured with pleasure from me.

But here, in the kitchen, next to me- shaking was the bird antitheses! The Rat! The judgemental, loud'mouthed Rat AND the same, same hungry!

The pantry door, slightly ajar, revealed a half loaf of sourdough on its lower shelf, along with canned Sphagetti and Roman Tomatoes. I knew He was hungry and intense, same as the Astrologer and Historian, Richard Tarnas describes Pluto- 'hungry and intense!'

Making sure Rat could see, I rolled, like Play Dough, some bread bits on the bench. Very slowly, I placed the bits one-by one in a tight circle. I heard his stomach grumble! Slowly and gently I dipped my open hand, near the floor, next to him. His eyes locked mine. I think he checking for aggression, deceit, or controlled lurking lust fir blood. I blinked and he blinked! Cautiosly placing one paw, Blink - another paw- Blink- the whole weight of his body with a wheezy exhale- Trusted- lifting him - positioning him on breakfast counter near the bread balls.

He was one of those sorts, as their belly fills, they get happier, chirpier maybe like a bird? "I mean...", he said with a full mouth, gulping, followed by a chocking from the gluttony. I passed him a napkin. "Thank you," He continued the be dominant, eyeballing me to keep his safety, "..You are addicted- right? Someone has to tell you that! Right!" He motioned at the pantry door, "Could you be so generous to lend me more of your fresh bread?" He covered his mouth with serviette. Burp! "Er- excuse me!" Moving away from him, and taking my time so he could centre, I pulled the bread packet out of the pantry and again- real slow- returned to the pantry for the Vegemite jar. At a distance, slow walk- the fridge! Rat had eelaxed his shoulders. I secured the cold olive oil spread. Again, slowly, I opened the bench door feeling to find the toaster. Again- slowly I bent and slowly I plugged the item in the power point, lowering it onto the bench silently. Rat observed me attentively. Popping two slices from the rustling wrapper, into the toaster, I asserted, "One slice is plenty for you!"

I pulled out the bar stool and sat opposite to Rat. We both crunched, savoured, the delicious melted spread, and the usual browny- black moustache of bitter, sweet, and salty delightful Vegemite! We laughed together. "How's your writing prompt going?" I raise my eyebrows. "At the moment, you're the Star, or should I say the Pluto archetype ingressing to my sign -Aquarius!" The Rat gave that best sound for the rhetorical question asked, "Hmph!" He rolled his eyes too! Tipping the diet coke bottle cap, "Another coffee Miss?" He was trusting me a little, so normal pace to the fridge- normal motion opening the door. From the corner of my eye, I veiwed a small squashed box on the outer doorpost. I thought, "I must have dropped it when I was taking out the recycling?"

Closing fridge door with my hip, I wandered over to the cardboard object. Touching it- a soggy box with wet leaf and grass litter. Behind it, over the tiled patio, was a long, darkened damp drag line coming from the rain soaked lawn.

Holding the box- I recognised that box- well- that perfume brand box! Weeks ago, that same box, I had converted in a department store. Maybe not a covert, rather, a longing- a hunger! I had even put a sample of that deep moss, sandlewood, and floral perfume mix on my wrist.

The promotional form of the box, in its natural state, was Violet - gold leaf fauna -and an emerald heart centred with word, or its label, "Loved." I had gazed at it longingly, several times, when I was gathering and scratching hay, like a broody chook, for Christmas presents. $313 - not in budget for this year!

My focus moved from that soggy label named "Loved" to what appeared to be a chewed out and many tiny pin like scratches, to form, what appeared to be squarish letters of bare, white under cardboard, letters reading, "UR". My eyes moved back to "Loved" label and then to the imposed "UR". I got it - UR Loved!

I heard a cigarette lighter whizz deliberate, as Rat smiled shyly and sheepishly at me. He moved a lolly wrapper towards himself, folding as a make shift ashtray, "Happy New Year Love!" My eye threw a dart at him- his habit- and most of all his one-sided judgement. "I'm cutting back, too ..." he said defensively. Changing gear, "... go on- open a gift from an old Rat."

I sniffed the box, "OOo smelt like garrr-baggg-", I thought to myself. Catching my thoughts like a tennis ball, feeling a little deflated and rejected, Rat carefully regulated his response, "Next door's got it from her Ex- for Christmas- you know - I saw the desperate card with it- 'Darling, I love you, can we make this work!' I liked Trevor, but she's moved forward with Hoochie Harold... from one addiction to another!" Rat pats his vest pocket,. The underbelly gesture sounded scrunching plastic and crushing of semi dried leaved. It was my turn to roll my eyes! Acknowledging with rattling chuckle, he t

drew on his cigarette, "... Ahh, her New Love has advantages for me..." He smirks- prematurely laughing at his next bad joke, "... And you our Australian B- aha- ha- ha.. Australian B- ha, ha..." I frowned at his misogyny! Rat gulped and tried to swallow his gut laughter, "... our- you're- our Australian B-, B- beatrix Potter- who I must say has the best- great tabacco..." Stopping to make his new rolly and in that concentration, he becomes deadly serious, "... and you need to give up with me, as ur loved." His voice softened, "Ur loved from all of us!"

The cardboard gave way in my hand, and in the unravelling, wet, stinking mess, I was holding the same perfume I had held in the department store. The words slipped out, "Guess you can't look a gift horse in the mouth-" I wanted to them, suck them back with a vacuum cleaner, as Rats eyes lost their glint and saddened. To stop the hurt, I quickly washed and loudly washed my hands making sure the bottle lathered with disinfectant soap tapped the edges of stainless steel sink. "Sorry John, that's what I'll call you! Thank you for your beautiful gift. I could never afford that. Ty for gifting me with all your thought.." Remembering the long drag mark over the patio, "... and your effort" I kissed him on his ratty, hairy forehead. He blushed and changed the subject, "I have a name?" Patting him, "Yes, you have a name- friend!"

He becomes reflective, "Do all the birds have names?"

"Yes!"

"Does the snake have a name?"

"Mosha"

"Does the stray cat?"

"Franny Winkles"

"Yer, she looks like a Franny Winkles!"

"Does the butterflies have names?"

"No"

Putting the milk back in the fridges door shelf. Him at my feet. I pass a small hamper made of folded red and white checkered paper. Straightening John's bow tie, "There's peppercorn cheese, dried apricot and mango bits, some more sourdough, one cracker- umm - that's right- christmas pudding- and- umm- watermelon." John happy, scuttles out the door, carrying all the fresh, cold goodies with his tail. Stopping, he turns, "Cya tomorrow morning?" I nodded. He yelled from the fence, "Just bum puff them, I do, only do a few draws right?" I waved goodbye, "Got It!"

Going into the cool of my home, my unusual morning invaded me enough to stand still. I guess earlier, I had wiped the mist off my loungeroom window and videoed pidgeons on my neighbour's roof. Two spinning, with sparkling tinsel, blowing crowns on the neighbour's roof, natural cooling, and rotating whirlybird. I focused the apeture on close-up, as two other pidgeons were waiting their turn for a ride. A child's toy whirled too, beautiful colours, anchored in the gutter's corner. I mean, if i told you you wouldn't believe me, so I got the visual.

I notice minuscule things that Neptune in Scorpio square blah blah did that to me! After over a week of drenching rains, all the decos manage to hang onto their posts. Before Christmas day, I remembered for some creative reason, while on their ladder, the neighbour decided to plant hanging hooks into their gutter and string multicoloured globe lights around the roof's circumference His child watched her Daddy, with her Mummy, crouching near her softly pinching the cotton dresses skirt to stop her from running on the road. "Mummy..." she said firmly, holding her toy whirlybird and pointing, "..there. "

This New Year's Day had made me realise I was blessed in a weird way! Rat- John was gone. Those disappeared clouds, wrThe sun was getting hot!.The previous clouds no longer, a simple dull yellow misty mass. The sort of yellow light, which Buddhists warn one not to enter into in the afterlife.

Yes,! Don't be seduced by the lemon light, the mud puddles lower light, literally the LEMON of the reincarnation light!

The Neighbour's corrugated iron had captured seeds from the surrounding trees. Swollen from too much moisture, they shadely scattered from the very recent torrents. Cracked open, they, with new year hopes to be the new version of themselves - the sprout-to- tree manifestation! Of course, all sorts of birds, had different ideas, the seeds being breakfast, lunch, and tea! Especially the crows who seer the wrathful solstice prophecy of the Sun and solar flares. Their rubber thongs at the edge of home trees awaiting to be worn combing and trolling the roof - all roofs!

Most of the bird had slept through that last night's midnight call, "Happy New Year." NEW Year's Day is a human thing, a human peculiarity. Festivities, like the christmas lights, caused them to pull their blinds down and shut out the glare. The extra heat from the colour reverberating meant extra dollars on the electricity bill for fans, at that usual hot time of year.

The earlier dimmed sun conditions had given an opportunity for bare feet. I knew Gerald and Gemima Pidgeon had only had two babies last season. The drought instructed their instinct, their genes to a smaller nest in this blue-collar suburb. Gerald and Gemima repeated the mantra from their bagpipe gullets, or pidgeon music, "Australia, floods, then seven years later, it's fire!" Then mocking with parrot voices, "Remember, Number two Pidgeon rule.." Gerald stood at attention and saluted Gemima. Both choralling together, "It's either flood or famine," Their mirth stemmed from their enculturation - from preschool - from grandma and grandpa pidgeon - and from their grandparents and so on and so forth.

Their first hatched twin, Deborah, had recently relocated to a flat near the St Lucia university campus. She had managed to hide in the neighbour's ute tray behind the toolbox while he did an electrical job at Taringa. I saw her parents waving with hankies and Gemima crying, cradles by Gerald back to their family tree.

Deborah was the bright one. As soon as her eyes opened, she was involved with the screen, hacking into all sorts of devices, phone companies, etc, and remaining secluded in their Eucalyptus tree. Deborah was also a social media influencer!

Derek, the second hatched twin, was mechanical. Josie, two trees down, had caught his eye and their chemistry and an astrological match, moved things forward quickly.. At that point, all four pidgeons drinking coffee together decided the weather was good, and today was the day to go to the roof carnival. The woodland duck had roughly landed there. Sliding webbed feet could not adjust, scattering him. However, he drank from the gutter and spied the juicy, drowning, and trapped winged insects. He noticed his pidgeon audience and deliberately stuck his beek in the air, the action enhanced by his long pipe-cleaner type neck. His body emphasised the previous gesture by turning his back.

Gerald murmured to Gemima, "Look, he's showing us the arse!" They couldn't yell that! The outer suburbs of Brisbane had rednecks, Alfred Woodland Duck, was one of them. He was a natural species of Australia and very protected. Even a glance at the pidgeons could afford him four days of mental health leave from work. The Pidgeon family had a bounty on their heads- All pidgeons did! That's what drove poor Deborah (now known as Betty Chateau to her Uni friends) underground in the first place. When Optus went down and the Australian-wide, frozen screens had three red words, "Pidgeons are equal," Pidgeon hunt began nationwide!

At that time, I had lost their mind and signed up for internet dating. My first and definitely last date made Gerald, Gemima, Deborah, and Derek's feathers stand on end. Deborah is curious about the life of humans, especially their humans, so on her radar, she hacked my email, my messenger, and my social media accounts. She read my email to a friend out loud. Mum and Dad hunched inwards at the screen, spectacles like microscooes. Deborah read loud, "After returning from, in her words, "My first and last date." The search word, "Pidgeon, " was highlighted at least twenty yellow boxes! Deborah continued. "His shirt was crushed. His collar was twisted. His hair was unbrushed, and his neck had a bum fluff plus hair that stuck out like a sore thumb. I tried not to let my natural biases of calling his dishevelled look a red flag kick in. I sat in that restaurant, part of the Plainlands pub, and tried to distract my obsessed gaze at him. Plastic coins were tumbling in a tray with a person cheering, so to distract myself, I had the opportunity to talk about gaming and betting machines without raising any suspicion. He, Paul, that man, blurted out - interrupting my natter - he killed pidgeons!" All the Pidgeon family gasped. Deborah hissed before reading, "Huh?, I said, looking to re-engage with the exact front pub door, I had walked through about ten minutes prior. He told me, 'There's a bounty on pidgeons, you know?' The Creep! The sassy prick saw my upset, '..the carcass worth five dollars.' He nearly jumped from his seat when he told me he launched rockets from his verandah rails at them! 'Poof..' he said, expanding both hands outwards to mimic an explosion, '...a big burst of feathers.' . Hurriedly, I packed my bag, making sure my glasses went in their case, and I had my phone. Enough for him to mockingly inject, 'His friend took an injured pidgeon to the vet who told him, pidgeons were rats, and they would put it down." I was the gone girl! Took me to Blacksoil to calm down and breathe."

With Duck long gone, this mornings roof was clear. Looking at each other, the Pidgeon family said, "LET'S GO." The carnival was fun!

If you have the time look in your backyard, you might also have fun.

By the way, "Happy New Year 2024, to you and yours....♥️