So it seemed (actually, that is what humans had made a habit of: they say "...seemed"; in reality, he belonged - not randomly at all).
Muttering, gathering speed, at last, singing - his favourite mutter-song - "Hackers in the Night" - the bear-cub stepped (or rather, stamped) close to the modem.
The modem was joggling lights like a Christmas tree.
Winnie stared at the modem, gaze unmoving, for a small eternity. About half a minute of clock time elapsed.
The bear-cub approached his workstation (called "Hunnybunny", an old SGI Octane, bought at a sale on lucky occasion, expenses split with Rabbit).
Were they being scanned, or? Or were the numerous Rabbit's relatives planning to visit them?
He booted up a sniffer.
Packets started dropping into the window, one after another. Right on - letter headers.
"Might any one of them bring at least a small honey jar?" - thought the bear-cub.
"Although, almost all of Rabbit's relatives were two-three times his tall, or even smaller than that."
Piglet used to be happy when the numerous yet courteous Rabbit kinsfolk came, leaped and dragged themselves to visit. Usually at least someone brought acorns; not that many, but of rare kinds, of which there weren't any in the forest.
"Yet honey they won't deal with. Especially with bees they won't."
With those thoughts on his mind, Winnie-the-Pooh typed "shutdown -t 0 -l" on his special (increased-button-size) keyboard.
Oak-and-honey-paint-finish Octane started leaping across the runlevels, turning off daemons.
Winnie sighed, left his old mail server gathering letters, and dragged himself to the kitchen.
No comments:
Post a Comment