Going Goblin Mode
Thanks for Petsitting Our Goblin! She’s So Loving and Sets Only the Teeny-Weeniest Of Fires!
The fire extinguisher is next to the umbrella stand!
Thanks again for agreeing to look after Gravel and the apartment!
The past year with our little companion has no doubt had its challenges, but she’s worth every sacrifice. Even if Trey and I wanted to, we couldn’t socialize with many of the couples we used to invite over — not when they have newborns, and the smell of a baby makes Gravel indescribably angry. She’s nothing beyond curious and cheeky with non-baby strangers 70% of the time, of course, but our friend group as a whole has exhibited a depressing amount of prejudice.
Take Izzy, for instance. She’s child-free but wasn’t convinced when I told her she could view Gravel as a (sort of) capuchin.
She was like, “Gia, capuchins can weigh up to 10 pounds. Your thing is about as heavy as 2 1/2 capuchins, and if it climbed up on my shoulder like a monkey, those damn claws would leave gutters of blood running down my back!”
So rude. That bitch’s hand-poured tealight business has officially lost my support.
What bugs me most is my own mother criticizing Trey and I’s decision to keep Gravel. She demands to know why the “monster” is still at our place. I’ve asked what she’d do if Trey and I had a kid with a few behavioural issues, and she goes, “Gia, it’s not a troubled kid. It’s not any kind of kid. It’s literally not human. It’s a creature from a fairy tale that wants to eat babies.”
I usually hang up on her. Gravel has never wanted to eat babies. She hates them; why would she want to eat them?
Recounting all of this really reinforces my appreciation for your decency, girlypop! In the Scottish moorland last spring, when rescuing what we believed was a uniquely ugly kitten, Trey and I couldn’t have guessed what was in store. We quizzed a vet tech in Stirling about the breed since we didn’t recognize it, and that’s when the confirmation came.
“Oh, this is no cat,” she explained. “It’s your bog-standard goblin. They’re rarer than they once were, but they occasionally crop up. My gran claimed a goblin killed her first husband, but then again, she was quite batty. Probably did him in herself. Anywho! Will you want to give the ooky lass a first round of vaccinations?”
I have no clue how she classified Gravel as female, but we said yes.
Ugh! I’m rambling, aren’t I? OK, here’s a rundown of what’s important to remember re: Gravel Guardianship!
- File her nails with the electric sander twice per week. Put one of the pairs of safety earmuffs on along with a 3M disposable mask for each session, and have Gravel follow suit. She’ll stay cooperative while you work if the iPad is in front of her playing videos from her favourite surgical procedures playlist ( FTR: We attempted visiting a professional groomer’s, but the employees screamed bloody murder when Gravel emerged from her carrier. The racket agitated dogs in a 6 unit cage bank, and their barking, in addition to the rest, drove Gravel into a frenzy. I pleaded for calm, but the receptionist took it upon himself to try and control the situation. He grabbed Gravel from behind and triggered her defence response: she spewed acid in his face. He’s filed a personal injury lawsuit against us, and we have a mediation meeting set for the week we’re back from vacation, but I’m not too concerned — his vision loss is negligible.)
- Gravel wears a harness and leash for walkies. There’s lots of staring and pointing at the park, but you learn to brush it off. Gravel’s major park incidents transpired prior to harness training. I’ll describe them for transparency’s sake: (1) She pushed a child off a swing because she wanted it and mocked him a bit as he cried. (2) She clambered onto a random St. Bernard, wishing to ride it like a pony, and she yanked its ears a bit to make it run. Presently, the worst she’ll do is offer a piece of gold to someone when she suspects you aren’t paying close attention. Smack this gold from her hand, and don’t allow the offeree to touch it! The gold is real but vanishes after 24 hours. Gravel throws tantrums when you intervene, but you must remain firm! Trey and I haven’t established how exactly she’s producing gold, but it’s likely biological alchemy. Information we’ve gathered indicates that whoever accepts a gold piece from a goblin is forced to serve the goblin for several decades — and our Gravely-goo is spoiled enough! She does not need a magically impelled slave!
- Lastly, Gravel is prone to certain nocturnal moods. You may be subjected to intermittent banging and hard-to-define squelching noises while in bed. Don’t worry — it sounds weird, but it’s generally harmless! The only things not harmless are the small fires Gravel enjoys starting at night, but we put new batteries in the smoke alarm, and there’s a mini portable fire extinguisher beside the umbrella stand. Recently, Trey and I woke up to sigils smeared on the living room windows and glyphs outlined on the floor. (My pink Dior lipstick served as the tool for the windows, and our pink Himalayan salt did the trick for the floor.) We took pictures before cleaning up but haven’t yet been able to decipher all the markings’ meanings. Research is ongoing, though! We have 16 chapters left to read from the book that educated us about goblin gold; further answers could be in there, but it’s just a slog to translate reams of Manx Gaelic via ChatGPT. Fortunately, I’ve been pretty reassured by a Wiccan named Cloud whom I contacted on Instagram. She can almost promise none of the signs are curses!
Now, to finish packing! DM me if problems arise — I’ll check Gmail and my socials — and don’t forget to give our precious monster kisses in our absence!
