Feral

Small human birthday this week.  6 years.  I have supervised Mr B making (at F’s request) a wooden toolbox.

 

It isn’t going to be a very useful toolbox to begin with.  It is the ‘wrapping’ for a pair of overalls and a potato peeler and has also been stocked with a bunch of builders pencils, a tape measure, a spirit level and an adjustable wrench – tools carefully chosen as things the smaller human can’t do too much damage with.  We aren’t too worried about the 6 year old – he is turning into a reasonably responsible youngster, and loves the idea of workshop time.  Twizzle, the terrible 2's sister, however was caught on security camera last week, dragging a toy box over to a gate (latched on the outside) at her nursery school, climbing up and reaching over to unlatch the gate and release all the tiny pre-schoolers into the wilderness.  Staff were perplexed as to how they had all escaped until they checked the security from near the gate.

She is a menace and often referred to ‘lovingly’ (– feline eye-roll -) as Feral Beryl.  Hammers, screwdrivers, even a file, in her hands is a recipe for pain and destruction.

The potato peeler ….. well it seems the highlight of the last small-human visit was being shown how to shave carrots into very thin strips with a spud peeler and proudly displaying the results as the salad to accompany dinner.  It kept him entertained and usefully employed while the real business of hot dishes and chopping with knives went on elsewhere.  (Not that F believes shaving carrots is a useful allocation of time – unless you are trying to help a 6 year old develop an interest in some food prep skills without cutting off any digits or inflicting life-changing burns).

I, the Tigger, don’t see the point of shaved carrots (I don’t see the point of carrots and some catfood manufacturers actually put the ghastly orange things into catfood!) but it set off a silly food game of long tongues that flicked in and out like snakes.

By now you are imagining the table manners at our place to be unregulated…. or feral even, and you wouldn’t be far wrong.  The place is a disaster zone after small-human feeding time.  Mr B gets upset if little people don’t hold knives and forks properly; F would be grateful if the food just made from the plate to palate without being engraved into the table, the floor, the chairs, and smeared on walls and doors in other parts of the house.   They can use their hands for all she cares if they would just sit still and consume the food rather than using it to create installation art in other parts of the house.  F does insist that adults and children eat together so that small humans can see there is an etiquette to mealtimes but it isn't showing any useful results yet.

PS. The stools in our house have been chained to the legs of the settee by means of a long bike lock to avoid any repeats of the security breach at nursery, and to reduce the risk of the stool legs being poked through the glass of the internal French doors into our lounge as had nearly been the case on the last visit.  Feral indeed.