My Sweet Little Angels
The range of available activities in the time of home isolation is quite limited and shrinking fast. So currently I’ve found myself at the stage of reaching the hidden layers of my inventiveness to make life more …varied. Yesterday, for example, I dug up a pile of old magazines from the bottom of my wardrobe to look through some articles I enjoyed about twenty years ago. Yeah, why not? I used to subscribe to a very ambitious magazine called “Mirror” (It’s a direct translation from Polish, my native language). There I could find myriads of pieces on literature, music, film, art, philosophy, psychology.
And I came across a highly engrossing interview with a child psychologist presenting in beautiful, nearly poetic words the most characteristic feature of children — innate goodness. She strongly argued that all children are born absolutely good, supplied with natural innocence, deep instinctive understanding and empathy towards all living creatures around them.
I burst into long loud laughter. Why? I’d immediately recalled a certain event when my kiddos were smaller, my baby boy 5 and my baby girl 10. Here it is.
A beautiful late spring warm day. I’m with my kids at home in the living room with a terrace door wide open to let in a little of the sun and a cool pleasant breeze. I’m lying on the couch reading a book. A very blissful, peaceful time I’m having on this couch indeed obtained at the cost of my children’s eyes glued to the TV screen, but, well, sometimes we parents have to take care of ourselves too, right?
Suddenly I can hear a blood-curdling scream making me nearly pass away of a heart attack. My daughter Carol jumps to her feet and runs, my son Timmy follows her in a hurry. Lots of commotion, yelling, dashing around the room. The standard procedure. Our cat Pamela’s caught a mouse and stormed into the house to boast about it. After a minute or so the beast with its victim are out, the glass door closed. Good. Now I can come back to the lovely reading. However, the bliss gets interrupted by shreds of a conversation. I lift my head up from the book. Oh, my babies have buggered cartoons and now they’re standing with their backs turned against me and noses glued to the terrace door instead. I’m getting up to check what’s going on there.
On the other side of the glass, on the terrace, right before my kiddos’ faces our pussycat’s tearing the mouse body to pieces - blood, excrements, internal organs peeping out from the belly cut out open…everything served on a tray to the audience. A spectacular show in the first row! And my cuties rap excitedly,
“What do you think, what she’s going to start with? The head or the ass? I bet on the ass!”
“Hey, look! The mouse’s still moving! And the guts are already out! Wondering if Pam’ll eat the tail too? And what about the paws?”
“Ha! I’ve won! She’s starting with the head! I’ve won! Hurrah!”
“Jeeeez, look! There’s so much blood everywhere!”
Awww! My sweet little angels!
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