She picks up the long-suffering cat and carts him about, one paw up next to his ear, the other dangling and bumping as she runs with him thru the house. She brings him his cat food (how nice! Dinner delivered.) and when he, understandably, moves rather sharpishly away from her, she follows him with the bowl. She squats in front of him and tries to feed him, one bit of kibble at a time. When that inevitably fails, she shrugs, retrieves a spoon from the silverware drawer and then feeds it to herself. This is usually when I walk in on the scene because as we all know, anything more than 5 seconds of silence means that someone is Up To No Good.
And the seagulls from Finding Nemo? That's the Boo. Mine. Mine. Mineminemineminemine.
She also loves to draw. It will (glory, glory, hallelujah) keep her occupied for a good 20 minute stretch. That is worth cash money to me. She does get frustrated at times and will crumple up the paper and dramatically toss it to the floor.
The artist at work.
Artistic agony.
The discarded works of The Boo (and my toes).
Masterpiece.
2 comments:
Many a day, I've found myself praying to the Crayola gods to give me just 5 more minutes of peace.
J ~ Your Boo sounds like my Boo - right down to the cat food (ugh). I give her coloring books that she tears to bits (a collage artist in the making?).
Shredded coloring book - $2.00.
Getting dishes done without "help" - priceless.
Kat
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