Sunday, December 13, 2009

Jemima and The "Musician"

We're bounding along in the park, our usual happy selves, when we hear this sound. It is the sound of someone kicked out of their very own home, the sound of a poor misguided soul practising the saxaphone. Don't get me wrong, there is no sexier instrument than the saxaphone, played well. As one might imagine though, the skill level of someone sent to the park to practise their instrument does not tend to be in the higher range.

So we're all walking along, coping with the discord, all that is, except Jemima, the smallest of the pack. As soon as she becomes aware that her regular sounds of breeze in trees and carolling cockatoos have been disrupted, the little munchkin sprints forth to find the offender and howl him down. By the time we all catch up, the poor confused would-be saxophonist has downed his instrument and is staring in disbelief at this angry ball of fluff.

Job done, we move on. Sadsax starts again. I look at Jemima, she looks at me. There's a decision to be made here and I believe she makes the right one. She moves toward me and climbs up my leg. This signals her need for a consoling cuddle. Dutifully I pick her up and begin to snuggle her little head into my neck. But no. No, this is not what she wants. She struggles, forging her little body ever higher until she is virtually standing on my shoulders. And now she fills those little lungs with more warm air than global warming has ever produced and she lets loose. Screaming abuse at the misguided musician, right next to my ear. She didn't want a cuddle at all, she just needed height!

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