I rip off the Marigolds and ditch them in the sink so that I don’t risk ‘wetting’ my son. I march into the family room to determine the cause of the irritating skritchy scratchy sound that it driving me barmey.
“What is wrong with that cat!” I scurge.
“Nuffink! He is not ‘wrong’ he is a good cat!” squeaks the superhero, defender of deviant felines.
“Actually,” she says peering over the top of her book, “don’t you remember that he’s the one with attachment disorder and bonding issues?” My mouth drops open ever so slightly, probably due to weak jaw muscles after surgery. Is she really only nine?
“That’s as maybe, but what is he doing? Why is he making all that racket?”
“He not make ‘racket’ he make scratching noises wiv his paw. A ‘paw’ is dah foot of an animal.” Well thank you for that unrequested clarification to further distract me from the task at hand!
“Yes, dear, but what is his paw trying to do in that drawer?”
“I know I am being mean to him. I will open dah drawer for him in a minute, coz he is too little to open it by himself.”
“What does he want that’s in there dear?”
“He wants dah little reptile.”
“What little reptile?”
“Dah frog.” I wonder how he knows this?
“Why does he want the frog dear?”
“Becoz he likes all doz little creatures dat come from the treasure box at therapy.” How does he know this?
“Why does he like them?”
“Coz dey are squidgey.” Fair enough, not that I’m any the wiser.
“How does he know that they’re in there?”
“Becoz of dah smell.”
“Dah smell of the squidgey toys.” Sometimes I wonder what planet I am supposed to be existing on?
“I can’t smell anything, what do they smell of?”
“Dey smell of squidgey toys.” Somebody save me!
“Can you smell them?”
“Of course I can smell dem.”
“I can’t!” say the eyes over the top of the book.
“I can,” says the one who isn’t listening and playing with Pokemon in the next room.