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clavus · 05-22-2003, 03:09 PM

“Cat eats a mouse”
“Cat eats a mouse”
“Cat eats a mouse”

“Yes,” Junior, “Cats eat mice.”

This exchange is typical of the conversations I have with my nearly-three-year-old son. Junior states a Universal Truth and repeats it three or four times. When he pauses to inhale, I confirm that he has spoken Truth with a capital T.

I can have these conversations on autopilot, any time, any place, regardless of the the topic. “Cat eats a mouse” is pretty benign. Some of Junior’s favorite proclamations include “I have saliva in my mouth,” “Poop stinks,” and the more complex version – “Mommy poops. Daddy poops. Junior poops.”

These days, I can stand in line at the grocery store and state with authority, “That’s right. Mom poops. Dad poops. Junior poops,” without batting an eye. My wife, however, is a little embarrassed by my poop pontifications when I launch into them unexpectedly…especially if our kid is back home with a babysitter.

“Look! Look! Cat eats a mouse. That’s funny.”

Junior was really trying to engage me in conversation. But I was really trying to read the sports page. Sacramento had lost a ball game, and I was desperately trying to make sense of the tragedy.

“Look! Look! Cat eats a mouse! Cat eats a mouse.”

I drug my eyes off the page and looked up at my son. “Yes, Junior, cat eats a …holy sh…!” Yes, I actually cut “holy shit” short. I should get sme Dad Points for that.

There was Mightycat, a triumphant gleam in his eye, a somewhat less-than-triumphant rat in his teeth. He stood proudly at the glass door, displaying his kill.

I didn’t want Junior to witness the disemboweling and dismemberment that Mightycat surely planned. It would only lead to more graphic public soliloquies from Junior. (“Mouse guts are messy.”) So I marched outside and demanded that Mightycat drop his vermin.

Mightycat looked up at me incredulously. His facial expression spoke volumes…volumes that all began with “Are you shitting me, monkeyboy?”

“No. Seriously. Drop it.”

He shot me a withering look and spat out the rat.

I wish I could properly describe the expression on Mightycat’s face when the rat rolled over and ran away. I can’t, but I want you to experience it. So do this –

If you have a teenage child, tell him he needs to send fewer emails because he is “wearing out the computer’s megahertz.” If you ARE a teenager, tell your dad that he wouldn’t need to stress out about “taxes and that mortgage stuff” if he just got a better job.

OK now take the look you just saw, and multiply it by about a bizillion. THAT is the look Mightycat gave me.

“Fine,” I muttered. “You’re right. I’m wrong. Please kill the damn thing.”

And for the next 15 minutes or so, Mightycat proceeded to beat, claw and bite at the rat while it ran crazily up and down the screen door in front of us. This live-action miniature Wild Kingdom episode delighted Junior. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say about it next time we are in public.

05-22-2003, 03:09 PM	#1 (permalink)
clavus pow! Location: NorCal	vermin violence and youngster banter “Cat eats a mouse” “Cat eats a mouse” “Cat eats a mouse” “Yes,” Junior, “Cats eat mice.” This exchange is typical of the conversations I have with my nearly-three-year-old son. Junior states a Universal Truth and repeats it three or four times. When he pauses to inhale, I confirm that he has spoken Truth with a capital T. I can have these conversations on autopilot, any time, any place, regardless of the the topic. “Cat eats a mouse” is pretty benign. Some of Junior’s favorite proclamations include “I have saliva in my mouth,” “Poop stinks,” and the more complex version – “Mommy poops. Daddy poops. Junior poops.” These days, I can stand in line at the grocery store and state with authority, “That’s right. Mom poops. Dad poops. Junior poops,” without batting an eye. My wife, however, is a little embarrassed by my poop pontifications when I launch into them unexpectedly…especially if our kid is back home with a babysitter. “Look! Look! Cat eats a mouse. That’s funny.” Junior was really trying to engage me in conversation. But I was really trying to read the sports page. Sacramento had lost a ball game, and I was desperately trying to make sense of the tragedy. “Look! Look! Cat eats a mouse! Cat eats a mouse.” I drug my eyes off the page and looked up at my son. “Yes, Junior, cat eats a …holy sh…!” Yes, I actually cut “holy shit” short. I should get sme Dad Points for that. There was Mightycat, a triumphant gleam in his eye, a somewhat less-than-triumphant rat in his teeth. He stood proudly at the glass door, displaying his kill. I didn’t want Junior to witness the disemboweling and dismemberment that Mightycat surely planned. It would only lead to more graphic public soliloquies from Junior. (“Mouse guts are messy.”) So I marched outside and demanded that Mightycat drop his vermin. Mightycat looked up at me incredulously. His facial expression spoke volumes…volumes that all began with “Are you shitting me, monkeyboy?” “No. Seriously. Drop it.” He shot me a withering look and spat out the rat. I wish I could properly describe the expression on Mightycat’s face when the rat rolled over and ran away. I can’t, but I want you to experience it. So do this – If you have a teenage child, tell him he needs to send fewer emails because he is “wearing out the computer’s megahertz.” If you ARE a teenager, tell your dad that he wouldn’t need to stress out about “taxes and that mortgage stuff” if he just got a better job. OK now take the look you just saw, and multiply it by about a bizillion. THAT is the look Mightycat gave me. “Fine,” I muttered. “You’re right. I’m wrong. Please kill the damn thing.” And for the next 15 minutes or so, Mightycat proceeded to beat, claw and bite at the rat while it ran crazily up and down the screen door in front of us. This live-action miniature Wild Kingdom episode delighted Junior. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say about it next time we are in public. __________________ Ass, gas or grass. Nobody rides for free.