Early Days With My Family

They even take shadow pics together!

And when I say cool (as in my last blog) I mean that my mama and pap have a pretty nice relationship with one another and appear to really like where they are with respect to their being a couple, even if they aren’t spring chickens any longer and really could give up all that lovey-dovey stuff at this age but oh, no, that’s not for them. They’re always kissin’ and huggin’ and laughin’ like teenagers and boy, in the morning it’s like winding a yarn ball up again to get something to eat because they’re in there snuggling and cooing and making little kitty sounds, like me when I dream, and I have to really watch out because if I get too close they say things like lie down, lie down, no, no, kitty, not on the stomach, not on the head, kitty, watch her, she’s hungry and could tear your throat out, but heckl, I’m not about to do anything like that, just because one day mama was playful and sort of scared me suddenly and my claw went out and caught her wrist and it went pretty deep, a puncture wound they called it, and that night her wrist swelled up like a sausage and turned red and the doc had to give her antibiotics for seven days, which meant she couldn’t have her nice glass of wine with papa at dinner and so everyone was in a pretty foul mood for a few days, but it was scary, I’ll admit.

She went to bed that first day of bologna-wrist and couldn’t move until the amoxicillin kicked in and I lay on the bed with her for consolation, which I think helped her get better. I was really sorry about the whole thing, and I don’t like being a scaredy-cat, but there are just some things I can’t get used to—garbage bags being popped open for the poubelle (that’s garbage can in French, more on that later), plastic milk bottles being crushed for recycling, and, this is the worst, vacuum cleaners! Oh, my God, do I hate those weird rolling metal creatures and this Ukraine woman comes in whose really nice and says Lou Lou, Lou Lou, over and over and scratches my head and I really like having my head scratched but then she brings out this giant roundish sort of animal with a long nose or tail or whatever it is and puts one of its tails in the wall and then, oh, boy, watch out because I’m outta here, under the bed and not coming out until she’s long gone, thank you, not even for dinner.

Well, maybe for dinner.

Do I hear kibble being shaken?