Today was a good day. Even the part where I almost had to cut a woman at the children’s playground in the mall. But more on that later.
My furry best friend is back. He’s been living with my parents since Boo was born, but now he’s back where he belongs: curled up in a ball beside me, shedding white and orange fur all over Hell and half of Georgia. Even though he’s kinda of a special needs, pogo stick kitty now, I couldn’t be happier. (Red, on the other hand, is going to reserve judgment until we can get him rehabbed enough to actually pee in his litter box and not all over the plastic on the wall beside it.)
Boo is equally as thrilled. He loves this cat. Loves him a little too much, perhaps. We have to be very careful when they’re in the same room, so that over-eager little hands don’t divest him of his remaining functional rear limb. Because that… would suck. Big time.
So after my parents dropped the cat off in his new luxury accomodations (ie: our master bedroom), I decided to take Boo to the mall so he could run off some of his IGOTTANEWKITTYANDHEMAKESNOISE!!! energy around in the children’s play area. Up until last week, I avoided this place like the plague because A) I don’t like other people’s children, and 2) other people’s children are germ factories. But then my mom pointed out that Boo needed socialization, lest he turn into that kid in pre-school this fall. (The one who can solve multi-variable algebra at age four but doesn’t like to play with his peers at recess.) (Or the one who asks for an abacus at Christmas.) (Also known as: a future software engineer who doesn’t mind supporting his mother in the lifestyle to which she has become accustomed.)
I knew she was right, so I armed myself with GermX and prayers and and set him free to run wild with the feral children who inhabit such places. And y’all, he was so happy.
Don’t get me wrong, we go to the park a lot when the weather is nice. But the weather right now? Is not nice. So our only options for safe play is indoors, very close to the air conditioner. That way our eyeballs don’t melt out of our skulls. Because I kind of value my eyesight. It helps me pick out teh krazees.
But, um. Whoops. I don’t remember where I was going with that last train of thought. Mister Kitty, Lord and Master of the UnderRealm demands my attention. And scritches. But not the clacky-clack typing noise I’m making. He’s all, cut that shit out and rub muh belly, woman.
Oh yeah, the part where I almost knifed a bitch.
So we had been at the play area for a about five minutes when another mom and her friend sat down beside me. They de-shoed their offspring (ew, feet) and started talking about all the other kids who were playing. Boo had just come down the slide in front of us, smiling like pig in mud, when one of the women pointed straight at him.
Woman: Now his curls are cute. But my Henry? He’s definitely prettier.
Friend: Yeah, Henry is pretty. That one kind of looks like a girl.
Chelsie: (strangled breathing) —!!!
I almost shat myself. Had they uttered another word, I would have lost it. I’m talking SOMEONE HOLD MUH EARRINGS CAUSE BISHES GONNA DIIIIIIIIE! But you would be proud of me. I just called Boo over to me, dropped a kiss on his sweaty little noggin, and sent a very pointed, very hairy stinkeye over at the two women. (And I told Twitter. Because you guys have my back.)
They didn’t say a word after that.
I let Boo chase their eleven-toed, bucktoothed kids all over for an hour then packed his sweaty self up into the car to go get ice cream.
I bet Henry didn’t get ice cream. His mom isn’t as cool as me. Duh.