I suck at madlibs

Morning lit by a blue moon; irradiated the earth's first seasonal frost. I approached the lustre gingerly. Watson eyed me. He stopped to examine dead magnolia leaves, which set him a few paces behind, as he found me an oddity in a hat that was best to be watched from afar. My walk was silent until I reached the field. Flower bulbs beneath the ground were unassailable by means of thick rime. My paddock boots made a sonorous crack on a pine cone and I looked over to see a tabby cat lay idly between two white pine trees. I threw a strobile near to scout out that it lived, and it did. It ran away with such might that Watson didn't dare make it a game. Again, he eyed me.
      I suppose it's to be expected, I thought. I also think you look funny in a hat.
I returned home, made myself cream of wheat with honey, and ate it by the fireplace.