The doorbell sounds. Sam comes into the kitchen with a box in his hand. “Look at this. Ordered yesterday, delivered today. Lovely Amazon service. Who cares about the state of the world.”
Nothing like retail therapy to make you feel better about the end of the world.
“It is the flea liquid for the cat.”
Our sweet cat has no patience with any sort of human tom foolery about his person. Flea liquid is doable, if you surprise him. But don’t even try to give him a worm tablet, he ends up being a very angry octopus with claws on every one of his 8 tentacles. We have to take him to the vet for that. They have a sort of wand thing and they do it in seconds. I don’t know how, despite having watched them on many occasions. All I remember is the surprised look on Milo’s face.
We head upstairs to our bedroom with great trepidation. He is asleep on our bed. He is always asleep on our bed. I hold Milo down and Sam squirts the liquid onto him in a surprise attack. We get all the flea liquid onto him, before he manages to morph into the Tasmanian Devil. He hates the flea liquid, not really sure why?
Milo is air born as he exits the bedroom.
Charlie finally comes out of the shower. Sam and I are still laughing about Milo. Charlie doesn’t smile at us being silly.
I head back downstairs. Milo’s cat door is still swinging.
Not long after the doorbell sounded again. I go to the door and there is a delivery guy looking back from the gate. “Parcel for you.”
“Thanks,” I say. It won’t be for me, but I see where you are coming from. (Me at the door, you at the gate, you swarthy with a nice smile, me, well me, gazing at each other, could be the start of a beautiful love story)
Sam comes down the stairs. “Who’s it for, who’s it for,” he says. “Is it for Charlie?”
I was tempted to say it was for Charlie, because Sam sounds just too enthusiastic, but I don’t. “It is for you.”
“Oh, another parcel for me, what else did I buy?”
“If you can’t remember doesn’t that say…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Sam as he takes it from my hands. “What did I buy?”
He rips the packaging open and says, “Oh, my onion glasses, lovely.”
He holds up a pair of bright yellow glasses with thick black padding around the eye frames in the air.
“Onion glasses?”
“They double as safety glasses.” He pulls them out of the plastic bag they are in and pulls the clip that is holding the arms together and slips them onto his face.
He tilts his head one way, and then another, and I am not sure if he is doing it on purpose but suddenly, he looks a little special.
It makes me smile.
(A bit NQR, as one of my old house mates used to say)
He goes wandering off to the kitchen. If he’d started feeling his way along the walls, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
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