The Return of The Mushroom

July 25, 2009

The Mushroom is called The Mushroom because of how she looks. She has lots of hair and is very little so, in particular in the mornings, she resembles a mushroom. I know what mushrooms look like. My Dad, in his bachelor days, went through a phase – especially when drunk – of experimenting with the food he gave me. There was the week when he kept giving me eggs in different formats. Eggs Benedict. A poached egg. One evening, a raw egg. I’m a cat. I don’t eat eggs. He also at one point gave me sauteed mushrooms which is how I know what they look like. And she, the woman who my Dad appears to like a lot, looks like one.

As I said, she stopped looking like a mushroom for a while but now does again. My Dad took this as a good sign. She is little again. She wears her hair down again. She is back to normal, thinks my Dad.

“She’s back to her old self, Zeebs!”, says my Dad as he combs my fur.

‘Not so fast there, Mister’, I want to say, but can’t, due to the physical formation of my larynx,  ‘I know what she says to herself when there’s no-one else around’. I pity his self delusion, but I see his point. I think everyone was thrown when The Mushroom stopped looking like a mushroom, and agree, at least, that this return to mushroom-resemblance is a good sign.


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