So I’m frittering around on my computer and I hear a vague rumbling.
SkrererererererererereEREERRRERERERE!
I peek out the window and I see the two ten-year-old neighbor boys on their bicycles. One is towing, via a short length of rope, a hexagonal plastic box duct-taped to a skateboard.
I roll my eyes and mutter something to my dog about the school year not starting soon enough for me.
SkrererererererererereEREERRRERERERE!
Great, they’re doing laps around the block.
Hey, wait a minute! Isn’t that a cat carrier?
Fantastic. Now I have exactly one lap to decide whether I want to get involved in this. The mother of these two (and five other children of varying ages) is viciously over-protective of her brood.
A few weeks ago a neighbor (the sweetest little old lady) complained to her about one of her little spores smashing the asphault of the street with a golf putter, sending chunks of high-speed gravel careening into walls and parked cars. Little Old Lady was just worried that one of the kids would lose an eye to shrapnel, but Brood Mother just tore into her, telling her NOBODY TELLS HER HOW TO RAISE HER KIDS!
Same result when another neighbor complained about the “skidding contest”. The boys were revving up their scooters, picking up speed, then smashing on the brake to see who could make the longest big, black rubber skidmark – on his clean white concrete driveway.
… and I mean, maybe the cat likes to travel?
((Sigh))
Here they come again. If you never hear back from me, bury my screen name on Wounded-Knee.
