One of the nice things about going to my parent’s house. . . I get to play with the dog and the cats.
The dog is Charlotte, a black lab mix thing who while is a couple of years old, has a puppy mind and throws her body around when she is excited. When we first arrived, she jumped up on the bed as we were unpacking, which normally might be a annoying but given that Stuart had just put his arsenal of electronic equipment on the bed could have been disastrous. I tried to pull her down while he cradled his iPhone and looked terrified.
We’ll be keeping the door to our bedroom shut.
Their pool was just finished and nearly every time we let Charlotte out yesterday, she had to show off her swimming skills by gingerly stepping into it and swimming to the other side.
She’s funny and like many children, is fun to play with and you are rather glad you can give her back to her parents when she starts crying.
The parentals have a screen porch that is a pleasant way to sit outside but not really be outside because you don’t get eaten alive by bugs. You look out at their enormous garden and it is really relaxing. The size of their garden is not hyperbole. You could seriously fit a football pitch inside it and still have room for the pool.
Last night I sat there with a glass of red, reading a magazine and wrote a short scene. The cats, (George, my baby they adopted from me, Jake, Zack and Miss Sophie) were hanging out with me as well and once in a while one would come and say hello and then go back to their chair or shelf and blink and be cattish.
I don’t know what my parents have been feeding George because he has lost his girlish svelte figure. Perhaps like all of us he has gotten old and just decided to let himself go. He’s always been a solid kitty, but now when he kneads his paws into you, he has some serious bulk behind his kitty shiatsu.
I think perhaps when I come visit, is is as much to see the zoo as it is to see my folks.
