Gran had gone from living by herself in her own little apartment to living with her daughter and son-in-law, much to that son-in-law’s occasional chagrin. But all in all it was a good arrangement, especially now that Odelia had recently given birth to a new human being in the form of Grace, who was Gran’s great-granddaughter and was eyeing me from a corner of the patio, where she was keeping herself busy in the plastic shell-shaped sandbox Chase had bought for her. Apart from creating cakes and cookies from sand, and subsequently trying to eat them, she seemed more interested in Dooley and me than in her latest toy, though. And I could already foresee that soon we were going to have to find a safer spot to enjoy some peace and quiet.
Gran’s phone rang out its merry tune—Taylor Swift if I wasn’t mistaken—and she immediately picked up. And as she chatted with Scarlett, vociferously reiterating her opinion on retirement homes in general and Happy Home for the Elderly in particular, I suddenly experienced a powerful pulling sensation in the vicinity of my tail. When I glanced over, I saw that Grace had grabbed hold of this sensitive appendage and was depositing a scoop of sand on top of it. When I tried to move my tail, she squealed with joy, then scooped some more, all the while applying a surprisingly powerful grip!
“What is she doing, Max?” asked Dooley.
“Seasoning my tail with sand,” I grumbled.
Of course Gran was too busy talking to Scarlett, so it looked as if I was on my own!
“Leave the tail, Grace,” I said gently, giving the thing a tug.
But she wasn’t giving up quite so easily. Instead, she doubled down, and actually went and sat on it!
“She’s funny, isn’t she?” asked Dooley.
“Funny isn’t the word I would use,” I said as the little tyke now started pouring sand on top of my head!
“Grace, no,” I said. “Sand should stay in the sandbox, not on top of the cat.”
But of course the little girl wasn’t interested in my point of view on the correct usage of sand. In fact she was enjoying the game so much she was squealing with joy, and patting my head with what can only be termed an intense caress.
“Does it hurt?” asked Dooley, interested.
“Yes, it does!” I cried as a bit of sand got into my eye. “Ouch!”
At this point Gran finally remembered her duties as a babysitter, and came over to direct Grace back to her designated play area and away from yours truly.
She didn’t like it, and wrestled within Gran’s grip, darting anxious glances over her shoulder in my direction, clearly feeling that her great work wasn’t done yet.
But I was done, and I took advantage of this sudden lull in the proceedings to remove myself from the scene and seek urgent refuge elsewhere. If those rose bushes had looked enticing before, they looked like an actual sanctuary now! And so I headed over there, only to be confronted with Brutus and Harriet in a state of intimacy I won’t describe to you but which no cat should be forced to experience on an empty stomach.
Excusing myself profusely, I staggered away from the sordid scene, and headed into the next-door backyard, where hopefully no little girls would hound me!
Dooley, who had followed my progress with marked interest, said,“What were Harriet and Brutus doing, Max?”
“Um… kissing,” I said.
“Doesn’t kissing usually involve a person’s lips?” he asked.
“They were probably working their way up to that,” I said, not really feeling in the mood for the birds and bees talk at that particular instance. I had the impression I had swallowed some of Grace’s sand, and it didn’t exactly taste moreish.
Lucky for us we soon bumped into Marge, and when she saw the state I was in, that wonderful lady took pity on my predicament, and proceeded to rid me of the last remnants of the sandstorm I’d just been in. She even took a gander at my eye, and when finally she gave me the all-clear, I expressed my relief and gratitude not only in word but also in deed, by giving her a gentle headbutt against the leg. She responded by giving us each a tasty treat from the fridge, and since the pet flap is too small for Grace to pass through, I gradually started to feel safe again from the baby menace.
Retirement homes may be deathtraps, but homes where newborn babies are allowed to roam free are probably even worse!
And as Dooley and I settled down on the couch in the living room, I said,“Don’t get me wrong. I love Grace. But she can be quite a handful sometimes, can’t she?”
“We have to be nice to her, though, Max,” said Dooley. “Cause one day when Odelia is old and gray and so are we, it’s going to be up to Grace to take care of us all. And if we don’t indulge her occasional whims now, she might decide to put us all in the Happy Home for the Elderly instead!”
I gulped a little at this piece of fine reasoning, and could only agree wholeheartedly.
“You’re right, Dooley,” I said. All things considered, a little bit of sand in my eye and a toddler stomping on my tail was a small price to pay for her future hospitality!
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