Rarities

I woke up with a pin-pointed headache on the top left side. Maybe from Crackers bothering me. Maybe from the disconcerting dream I had involving Mom stealing ice cream cones.

Crackers hissed at Puck, sent out a shooting claw towards him.

“Crackers!”

“She’s just a little grumpy,” I explained. “She got in trouble for trying to eat the chicken before I put it in the oven.”

MEOW.

“You might want to stand back, bud. She doesn’t sound too happy.”

“It’s ok, Mom. That’s her love meow; it means that she’s comfortable.”

Because it was an unconventional Saturday, and 24.5-pounds-lighter Bær wasn’t around to make jealous, Puck and I drove out to Orange Leaf. Puck had to have an orange seat, we being the only two customers in the whole place. Everyone must have been busy getting ready for the game. After Puck had loaded his strawberry and wedding cake yogurts with all sorts of candy toppings, he grinned.

“Good thing God invented teeth, else or I couldn’t chomp things!”

After dinner Puck walked back through the front door with two hefty sticks.

“Can you make this into a cross, Mom?”

I found myself on the floor a few minutes later securing the cross pieces with rolls of yellow thread.

“So… why did you want this cross?” I asked.

“To carry around. A Christian symbol. For people who aren’t Christians.”

I envisioned a Medieval monk.

Game 3. Joe-Joe on the mound.

Puck had been waiting to sleep in the king-sized again [he is his father’s son], so I easily obliged.

And Rose IM-d me about how she set off the fire alarm at work and the fire fighters came even though she told them not to.

“They don’t like to go back to the station once they leave apparently.”

And the wildness of Busch Stadium ensued; happy fans.