As part of my school’s orientation day, there was a ropes course planned for us, high in the trees. Klez was in town dropping me off.
KM: “What’s happening tomorrow?”
Me: “There’s a ropes course.”
KM: “What’s that?! Do they make you tie knots in ropes like in the scouts?”
Me: “So I think the university has a Quidditch team. I’m definitely gonna join.”
KM: “THAT’S GREAT! YOU GONNA JOIN?!”
Me: “Do you even hear what I’m saying?”
Though I write from the South, far far away from Klez Mom, I figured now is the perfect time to reflect on how special she is. What follows will be a collection of Klez Mom snippets from months passed. Apologies for the delay, dear friends.
Fat cat CC lies on the floor all day, rarely seen to move from one spot to the other. Suddenly, she digs her nails into the scratching post and pulls her body across the floor.
“That’s the most exercise she gets all year.”
“You talkin’ about me again?”
After Klez-Mom took a tumble and broke a couple of toes, she was given a prescription for painkillers.
On the phone with a friend,
“I could make loads of money for sure. Refill my prescription and sell it for cash on the streets…”
Klez-Mom, calling upstairs to dad after I agreed to help explain social media to her,
“George! A’s gonna give us a tutorial on twitty twitty this weekend!”
1) Dad, biting into a rice cake,
“This is just like cat food.”
Pauses, takes another bite,
2) Sitting on the couch with his favourite, rubbing her furry ass and tail up against him, as she does, dad speaks. You have to understand, dad has a language of his own, frequently replacing words or peoples’ names with whatever seems to slip off his tongue. We understand. Usually.
Gesturing with his hand the act of massaging her back,
“She wants to do the thingy with me.”