The Monster loves ice pops. Ideally fruit juice or fruit pulp ones, though if he’s jonesing for one and there’s no visible alternative, he’ll eat one of those HFCS water/artificial coloring abominations (as long as the color can be found in nature: he doesn’t trust the blue ones). He’s loved ice pops since before he was born. I like them, sure, but I never craved them until I got pregnant, when I started having episodes where I’d eat box after box of Trader Joe’s Fruit Floes.
Once I ate through two boxes while
transferring browsing the frozen section of the Mountain View TJs into my cart. The cashier thanked me for not eating the barcodes on the emptied boxes. I can’t swear that I didn’t consider it, even though I’m reasonably certain I would have just eaten the fruity-goodness soaked sticks.
Yesterday, the Monster helped himself to the next-to-last ice pop in the freezer. I gave him the ‘you’ve only got one more left’ warning and went to swap out the laundry, figuring I had about a half hour before he finished the entire box, dug through the entire freezer to confirm that there was no secret emergency stash…
…I don’t keep one of those anymore. I’ve learned my lesson about that…
…and decided it was grocery day, HEY GOOD JOB NOW MAMA PUSH PUSH LET’S GO. Yeah, that’s my son, the future Lamaze coach.
Monster hung out in the office while I took towels upstairs. As soon as I got to the linen closet, I heard Rover yeowling.
The cat’s been living outside since my last post about him, apparently content to run with his new friends until they get tired of him, at which point he turns up on at our door. We haven’t let him in or put food out for him, because we don’t want to encourage that behavior (or frankly, have every feral cat in the county and all of our local wildlife turning up to eat his food). He’s either a house cat or he’s an outdoors cat. If he’s an outdoors cat, he needs to hunt his own food.
The weather’s warmed up. There’s plenty of @#(@&$ chipmunks and groundhogs. Circle of life, cat, have at!
While Rover hasn’t tried to attack Monster again like he did on the 19th, he has hissed at him and us — and, uhm, I haven’t let him have the opportunity to get to Monster without having to go through me.
‘Cause, yeah, the cat’s managed to piss me off in right in the intersection of “got helping hand bit” and “hurt my kid”, neither of which sit in the “easily forgotten” or “readily forgiven” sectors of my personal Magic Quadrant.
Granted, this week Rover’s been more interested in trying to look cute than aggressive (though he hasn’t purred at all when he’s approached us) until he realizes he’s being ignored, at which point he at least thinks about going after the nearest screen between him and an open door or window.
I’d left the back office door open. It’s gotten warm enough that I can enjoy some fresh country air while I work on my computer tan. There was just a screen between Monster and Rover … and I imagine you can guess what was going through my head when I dropped the basket of towels and ran downstairs.
I got to the office just in time to watch Monster — who was pointing his denuded ice pop stick at Rover, who’d started to climb up the screen — proclaim NO YOU ARE BAD and slam the office door hard enough to knock Rover off onto the step.
Monster then calmly handed me the stick, walked past me into the kitchen, and got the last ice pop from the box. He held it up triumphantly and announced: THIS IS POPSICLE. YOU OBEY.
I think we’re going to have to start calling them Scepters of Justice.