We got a different satellite carrier and there was housecleaning and installing and drilling holes in the house and a lot of freakin’ questions I couldn’t answer and no television during the time when the short people usually have television to just chill them the hell out.
They were driving us crazy–or, rather, they were driving Mate crazy, because I had retreated to the computer to get a teeny tiny bit of writing done, and I heard Mate shoo them down the hall to get ready for their shower and then…
My Mom-dar went off.
“Hey, Mate, wherethefuckiscavetroll?”
“I don’t know–when did you see him last?”
Ten minutes later we had turned the house upside down and inside out, Mate had been around the block once, the cable guys were helping us look, and I was WETTING MY FUCKING PANTS.
I was just pulling out of the driveway, thinking maybe we needed to expand our search parameter and wondering when you call the cops in this situation, when he came be-bopping out of the house, all dimples.
“Mommy guess what? I was HIDING, and you couldn’t FIND ME!” Isn’t this great? Wasn’t he a good hider?
“That’s awesome, sweetie,” I said faintly. “Next time you do that, could you let mommy know we’re playing the game first?”
I came inside, to Chicken, who was terribly full of herself for having found him. “Where the hell was he?” I asked, still shocky from ALMOST WETTING MY FUCKING PANTS IN ANXIETY.
“Under the end-table between the chair and the couch.”
I looked–honestly? I wouldn’t have looked in that spot for the damned cat–too fucking small. And by the way? When I was outside, calling his name with several operatic cracks in my voice, he was about four feet away, laughing is bony little ass off.
“Chicken, do me a favor, wouldja?”
“When I’m about sixty-five, and I drop dead for no discernible reason, I want you to get your brother, and slug him really fucking hard in the arm, and say, “You asshole, if you hadn’t pulled shit like that when you were a kid, we could have had mom for another FIFTEEN YEARS!!!”
And this next is a true story of dreaming in puns:
I had a dream about a beautiful, graceful dancer, practicing the choreography to March of the Marionettes with her partner. Her partner was an extraordinarily lovely young man who had a burning crush on the dancer’s brother.
I woke up in a sweat of revelation and said, “Yaoi Story.”
I shit you not.