Don’t Tread on Me

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“I guess we didn’t eat enough, you think?”

In the race to outer space at the dinner table – the one who eats the fastest gets to the stars first, a game invented by the kids – a question came up after my four-year-old son decided he wasn’t going to fuel his rocket with the evening’s lentil stew. What happens if you don’t eat?

I posed the question.

My six-year-old daughter looked at me as if I had two heads.

“You won’t grow, silly,” she said.

Then she said, “I know what will happen. You will shrink and you’ll turn into an ant. That’s what will happen.

“And then you’ll have to be very careful so that nobody eats you by mistake, and you’ll have to watch out for Maple (our four-ton dog) or else she will lick you up and swallow you. And Rain (our new kitten), oh boy, she will play with you like a toy and then you’ll get hurt. She may even eat you up, too.

“I know what you have to do. You have to build a cage to keep safe on the floor and on the table. Everywhere.”

The two kids sat in silence for a few seconds and then my daughter started digging into her dinner again.

The four-year-old looked down at his plate of stew, picked up his fork and plunged in, now eating with relish. The pace picked up and they were off again on another race to outer space.

It seems safer up there.

Who’ll Stop the Rain?

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The rain swept in and caught the dog unaware.

We have a new cat. The two eldest kids have named her Rain. She’s adapted quickly to her new home, finding her favorite spots to sleep and hang out – on the sofa, on my desk, on my keyboard and in my trashcan, and under the covers of my four-year-old son’s bed with him giggling loudly.

Rain has a shiny silver coat with black, gray and white streaks. So it’s an apt name.

What isn’t apt, maybe, is that she’s a cat. She’s more like a dog. She tries to tag along when I take the true dog out for a walk on the streets of the big city. She follows us around inside the apartment, sits with us. She’s not into any of that solo cat stuff. She’s even taken to playing fetch. My wife will throw a ball of crumpled paper from the sofa and she’ll race off quick as lightening after it and then trot back with the ball in her mouth, her chin held up high and proud. She’ll jump up on the sofa and sit down, drop the ball and sit poised for another go.

All this has got the dog a bit miffed. Big and slow, she can’t keep up with Rain as she zips across the floor to fetch the paper ball. Not to be outdone again, she’s ready this time. So when the paper ball flies across the room the dog – four-ton is her nickname – bounds as fast as her huge frame can take her across the room and skids with a bang against the wall. The feat has proved successful. The ball is at her paws and she picks it up with her mouth and looks over at the startled kitten and with a look of, “Look who’s boss now!” she swallows it whole. “Game over, cat!”

1,000 Words

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A picture can often say more than words. This one is of our family.

A picture speaks a thousand words. That’s the saying, right? Well, as a writer I’d rather write the words, or more, without being verbose, of course. But this picture, well, that’s us. The family, as drawn by my six-year-old daughter, with the four-ton dog up top, the three kids, my wife and me. Well, you get the picture.