A room? A nice room? A beautiful room? A beautiful room with bath? Swing high, swing low, swing to and fro...This happened and that happened... And then the days came and I was alone.
There is not room to swing a cat.
Room to swing a cat, it seemed was absolutely essential. It was an infrequent but indispensable operation.
Oh cat, I'd say, or pray: be-ootiful cat! Delicious cat! Exquisite cat! Satiny cat! Cat like a soft owl, cat with paws like moths, jewelled cat, miraculous cat! Cat, cat, cat, cat.
Swing your swing. Not some idea of a swing. Not a swing you saw on TV. Not that swing you wish you had. No, swing your swing. Capable of greatness. Prized only by you. Perfect in it's imperfection. Swing your swing. I know, I did.
If I can't find a cat, I stop and quiet my mind, not yelling the cat's name, and focus on connecting with the cat and then I get the message and go to that room or outside door and find the cat.
Dividing the swing into its parts is like dissecting a cat. You'll have blood and guts and bones all over the place. But you won't have a cat.
The hardest thing of all is to find a black cat in a dark room, especially if there is no cat.
If you want to concentrate deeply on some problem, and especially some piece of writing or paper-work, you should acquire a cat. Alone with the cat in the room where you work ... the cat will invariably get up on your desk and settle placidly under the desk lamp ... The cat will settle down and be serene, with a serenity that passes all understanding.
You may have a cat in the room with you without anxiety about anything except eatables. The presence of a cat is positively soothing to a student.
I can't swing a dead cat without hitting a reporter.
I cant swing a dead cat without hitting a reporter.
'Swing' is an adjective or a verb, not a noun. All jazz musicians should swing. There is no such thing as a 'swing band' in music.
I'm not afraid to swing the bat. If they elect to pitch to me, I'm going to swing. I'm not as picky as Mr. Sheffield. I'll swing at something over my head.
When there was room on the ledge outside of the pots and boxes for a cat, the cat was there- in sunny weather- stretched at full length, asleep and blissful, with her furry belly to the sun and a paw curved over her nose.
Words are a strange thing. You once saw an animal and decided it's a 'cat.' But cat is a sound. This cat has nothing to do with the animal. But I have decided it's a cat. So a cat it is.