The cats don’t like the saxophones, no they do not, they do not like them one bit (true furry tales of honing one’s craft). They don’t like the screechy, yowling sound they make, for it seems it offends their delicate little ears; and sets their whiskers on edge..at the mere sight of the cork getting greased, they begin treading circles nervously around the room, setting up for a hasty retreat to their safe space they are familiar with from the last time, or times, there was saxophone practice..in the house. How big is that space; and where? Maybe they have to share it with a mouse; or two..or 5 or 25, who knows! do you? Anyway, the point of it is once the reed gets softened sufficiently with some good old-fashioned spit, –and they hear it start playing itself and the notes begin to split! making that grievous honking sound like a gaggle of geese’s going north for the winter; or some aspirins, or percodan’s, –or whatever, crossing each other’s air-spaces going south! you will find they can no longer be found..the kitty-kats can’t. Do you know where they went? or why? No, and neither do I. And nothing seems to improve, either, ever, any way (except maybe we got rid of some mice); and looking around the room at all the chairs – sentinels, silently sitting there – there’s something different, definitely, I can notice..their fabric’s bent! bent fabric, nice! and just from a few notes, or whatever, bouncing off the tuck ‘n’ roll couch, Ouch! it’s no wonder the cats don’t like a saxophone. If the furniture couldn’t withstand it, why should they? could you? (yeah, me too). Here, my kitty-kitty’s, now hear this! (sax-vamping some respectably substandard, alley cat-ty..flowery! be-boppish dirge on MOON RIVER al dente, well, sort-of I’m outta here). Well so what if I ain’t no ‘Boots’ Randolf?? We can always trade it in on a good used accordion and try starting over..again, –Can’ I? “Yes we can! can-can, –Uhh!”