I have a new game that I play at work, it’s called, “Smack the FruitFly” (sungalong to the tune of that Prodigy song – which I always thought was “Smack my picture” cuz that makes a ton sense.) Today I had a personal best of 4.
I am such push over with kids, partly because somedays I forget I am 30 and not like 12. As I pulled into the driveway last week, I noticed the little girls from across the street pacing in front of the house. They were in a state of panic because their cat, Romeo had escaped into my backyard. When you’re 10 this like the end of the world. I remember this because our terrier was like a straightup bullet everytime the front door opened. This is the terrier that must have bitten me like 17 times. Clearly, he was trying to tell us something. I offered to go look for cat and spotted him heading underneth my neighbour’s deck (Gill!). So, I updated the girls on the kitty’s whereabouts and was asked (begged?) to accompany them to Gill’s and by the way, could I stop in the house for some cheese? Because Romeo loves cheese, like a lot. Armed with my lunch cheddar and the dog’s dogs, I went with the girls and helped throw processed food pieces under Gill’s deck until Gill came out and was the voice of reason (adult) in the situation. Letting us know that Romeo wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon because we were probably frightening him and would probably return home at his next scheduled feeding or sooner. Before we all went home, one of the little girls asked Gill how big his backyard was and informed him that if it was her back yard she would fly paper airplanes in it. Yesterday the doorbell rang and I was given the cutest note-
“Dear nice lady who lives across the street. Thank you for the hot dogs and cheese. Romeo came home at 3am. *heart* Brooke ps. Heart=thankyou. ”
I wonder if Gill got one too?
