Two years ago, we brought younger daughter to this condo, and told her we were moving. We braced ourselves; she had told us adamantly since our return to Victoria that she was never moving again.
However, she took the news calmly; we had deliberately timed the tour to take place en route to an outdoor screening of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in Beacon Hill Park, to cushion what we felt sure would be a blow.
As we departed, unbludgeoned, to catch the film, we saw a young couple with a dog, and younger daughter suddenly asked: "Can we have pets here?"
We affirmed this, and she announced she wanted a cat this time, a male cat.
Male cats apparently are fewer on the ground, so it was a year later that the SPCA phoned us and told us they had the fellow for us. He conquered us quickly and rules absolutely - and stalks us from the closet.
This evening, I find myself wallowing in apprehension - and it's not because of paws suddenly lunging at me from amongst the Resident Fan Boy's apparel.
Don't these things come in threes? Are we trembling on the brink of another future anniversary?
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment