Ch. 154; Vol. 10
“Mom? Where is the sheet that you said I can have to wrap around me today and now it is today and so I can wrap it around me over my clothes?”
How was I supposed to remember stuff like that before I got out of bed in the morning? I was still somewhere on an archaeological dig featuring repasted gold coins from 1860’s racist America. Still…
“I think… it might be in the closet…”
I really woke up when I realized that Puck had found the grasshopper cookies, somehow, from The Bear’s and my Arrested-Development-sparkling-Izze-peach-juice-Keebler-grasshopper-cookies Sunday evening…
“He already apologized,” The Bear informed me later.
The morning didn’t stop for me. Mondays usually don’t.
“Puck, put the yogurt lid in the trash now. Crackers is done licking it.”
“Well, Mom, I will. But. She is not finished yet. There are things that humans cannot see and things that animals can see.”
Around school books and laundry and dishes and checklists, I found Puck stuffing all kinds of stuff and things I wasn’t sure I knew he had, into a pillowcase in the hallway…
“Mom. Could I bring this to Grandma’s house to spend the night?”
“Is that really necessary?”
“Yes, it is. It’s a pillow. It’s very important. Because it keeps the blood from running to your nose. Right? In the middle of the night.”
He grins.
He’s not supposed to understand blood circulation yet.
And then Crackers needed food. I had mis-estimated on how long we had till it ran out. But I’m thinking it had more to do with Puck measuring daily allotments by fist instead of measuring cup. So we hit the ATM and the store under stretched sails of innocent white fluff in endless blue.
We had another game. This one was a surprise, actually. A lower level section 153 surprise when three tickets popped up at work for The Bear, Red Strike, and the third one for me. [I might have felt a little guilty.] But, YES, anyway. Why I feel the need to accompany that with an evil laugh, I don’t know.
So in this sunshine-and-68-degree-afternoon – yes, yes, it was a much better June this year – we set out once more, to the city. Puck got to spend the night at “Grandma’s and Grandpa’s” [probably watched mostly by his “Sun”], Trader Joe’s for the usual, and picking up Red Strike in South City, all in time to find our seats for the first pitch. And friendly seats they were, too. The second best we’ve ever had. The Bear began to scan a panoramic on his iPhone…
“Dude, I messed up your face in it,” he told Red Strike. “It’s all smashed.”
“Hey, that’s ok. The world can’t take too much of this beauty at once. One side of my face at a time is enough.”
I sort of felt like we were tourists in Hollywood, like we didn’t completely belong. But that thought faded as the game began. Cards fans are sort of all the same, really. Broke college student, inherited multi-millionaire, and single mother with three kids. The distinctives sort of mingle together; class status fades.
The boys filled empty beer cups with pistachio shells into the 8th. Something about The Bear wanting to reach the top before the end of the game. And then the stand-and-cheer-and-clap for the entire top of the 9th. Such tradition.
Plus, I got to see Yadi do it all – throw out a runner, homer [I was proud to predict that one], and play first base. Despite some nonsense about a suspension and fine. But I’ll leave that for another archive.
In the reality of an eleven o’clock greeting from a greedy, snooty gray cat at the front door, Crackers was a little miffed that I wasn’t serving her a midnight snack. To emphasize her disapproval, she stared two yellow eyes and me and promptly began eating my ponytail palm tree…
“Are you threatening me, sister?”
She stopped for two seconds, glared at me – as cats will passively do – and returned to munching.
I might have given her a small ounce or two of dry – and stale – cat food.
When no one was looking.
Fortunately for me, you don’t have to treat cats the same way you treat kids.