...drifting along with a tumblin' tumbleweed...

There's always that one stubborn little fluff of hair that escapes the vacuum cleaner. Somehow it knows where to safely hide from 64 horsepower suckage, and then when the machine bent on its destruction is tucked away and the lady of the house curls into the couch with a book and a cat, this little tumbleweed rolls serenely out of its hiding spot and tickles her toes.

Yesterday afternoon the fluff went airborne for a moment. It was amibitious, daring, and beautiful as it rode the air current. And blissfully unaware. The moment it left the ground, Meera locked her eyes onto it, then watched it rise two feet into the air and drift over the arm of the blue chair...at which point she leaped and snagged it, and ate it.

Which death is better? Death by vacuum, or death by Meera?