Far too preoccupied with the day's turgid events and the lackluster party turnout stemming from the oversight of the editor of The Gussyville Gazette, Horace Showplane, to have his birthday notice printed, Walter, nevertheless, mustered courage and his limpish hotdog while awaiting Suzette Marquette's arrival at the gate of the lion cage, Atwatter Zoological Gardens, Santa Diega, CA.
Nearly falling into further desultory meanderings of a spirit gone to hell in a proverbial handbasket, the underwrought Walter sought, once and for always, to toss his underappreciated and -sized scarecrow frame into Leo and Leona's moat and let the two senile felines make sport with his squirming but willingly surrendered soul. As he let himself into the big cats' lair [the key had, strangely enough, been left, as usual, in the deadbolt by the ever-forgetful Roger Clomsky, zoo attendant], Walter saw his life flash before him - escapades in mischief and mayhem with his frail and trembling cousin Caspar Milquetoast, visions of his haranguing but well-intended Mother Mitty speaking noisy volumes into stopped-up ears, the delightful baked-goods' aroma wafting from the open window of his grandmother's kitchen ...
Walter! WALTER!!! You've been sitting on that rock for over an hour! If you're finished swimming, come up here and change out of those wet things! Look at you shivering like a steam engine! Where does your mind get to? Come along now, Grandmother Mitty has made her lemon potato pie.
