Friday, July 09, 2004

'Tis official

I am a small child magnet.

Five minutes ago, I heard childish mutterings outside the front door. Aimed at Harvey.

Now, remember. Harvey is pure evil. During daylight, he bites, he scratches, he hisses and he swats. If you are under five, he does this after dark too.

So fearing an angry mob and their weapons of choice, I go to warn the kidlets not to bear tender young flesh near the psycho cat.

Not only are they trying to poke him out, they are chasing Miss Ellie round the garden. Frankie and Charlie are hiding under the car. There is no angry mob in sight, let alone any responsible adult. Hehehe.

I'm mentally preparing my child friendly tirade, when......

"You're the cat lady? You have so many cats! Do they poo a lot?"

Shit. Even children under five in the neighbourhood know of my reputation, as a cat shit shoveller. Methinks that letting them try to poke Harvey will be sweet.

But do they continue? No. I'm more fun to torment.

They sit on my doorstep and tell me about their cat, Tigger. I know Tigger. Tigger sneaks in the catflap and eats my cats food. I know all about Tigger.

(In fact, I plan on stealing him.)

Then the conversation moves on to my cats. My car. My overgrown front garden. My rather cool nail varnish.

I am sat on the front doorstep with a five year old and a three year old (in snazzy Bob the Builder 'jama's) and there are no parents in sight. I was watching the delivery of a set of triplets on tv, and they had just made the first incision. Can I leave them? Can I?

Bollocks can I leave them. So we sit and tell cat stories. I show them how Harvey plays catch and fetch. Normally we do this with flowerheads, but thanks to my new friends, we found out that Harvey will chase a plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

We chat about how important it is to be nice to animals (might as well indoctrinate them early) and then I see Daddy in the distance chatting.

Thanks mate! You enjoy your evening, whilst I prevent your kidlets from being savaged by the Wild Beast of the West. I don't mind. Well, actually I do.

So I watch the kidlets trot off to Daddy. Peace. In I toddle and start feeding the cats. I turn around and.......

The kidlets are back. In my house. Shit. It's like a bad dream brought to life. I really must remember to shut the damn front door.

As if that wasn't bad enough, they settle down on my sofa and start watching the tv. What the hell do I do?

Finally, luck shines upon me and Daddy is at the door calling them out. Thanks Daddy.

Why do I always get left with other people's kids? The Boy. The children at the wedding. The strange little girl from up the road. Now these little boys. Do I emit some honing signal that they tune into? Answers on a postcard if you will.

posted by DMouse007 @ 7/09/2004 07:11:00 PM