The Thaw, Part 2

March 23, 2010

Two days after the advent of Spring, it hit 15 degrees and was sunny. Proper, birds-tweeting-in-the-sky, sunny. I don’t think I have ever seen The Mushroom so happy.

“You-don’t-need-your-longjohns, you-don’t-need-your-longjohns!” she sang to The Baby as she dressed her that morning.

“Longjohns!” repeated The Baby, thereby identifying herself as a child who has just spent the winter in Saskatchewan. Can’t recognise an ice-cream but can name her thermal underwear.  Anyhoo, they were out all day and left the window open so I could venture out if I so chose.

The first thing that struck me, when I went Outside, was that Outside smells quite a bit of wee. Literally. Someone has wee-ed. In fact, the entire groundplan of our building appears to have been sprayed with wee. I spotted Volvo Cat, skulking next to a stick, and I suspect him.

Secondly, the snow has melted to reveal that everything is dazzlingly brown. I mean, everything. I don’t know what I expected, as everything has been covered in snow for a very long time, but certainly not this mass of brownness. The trees are brown. The ground is brown. Next door’s car was white but is dirty so is now brown. The buildings are brown. Volvo Cat is brown.

More disturbing, however, is the absolute array of turds that appear to be carpeting every bit of the brown. You don’t see them at first, because everything is brown, but once your eyes adjust to the brownness, and begin to be able to identify texture, then you see them. Everywhere. Who owns all these turds? Did everyone in the village, the day before the snow fell, come to our garden to have a shit, safe in the knowledge that it would be hidden for five months? Has Saskatchewan’s answer to Chris Ofili had a go at making some installation art right next to our Serial Killer’s House? Even if Volvo Cat hadn’t been skulking next to what I thought was a stick but was, in reality, probably a massive turd, I refused point blank to jump off the window sill, as one misplaced paw would leave me licking someone else’s shite off my claws for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile, Fluffy Usurper, having jumped on Volvo Cat and realised Volvo Cat was a boy cat with larger testiclods than him and no sexual curiosity, was playing football with a thoughtfully placed spherical turd.

Our house is the Litter Tray of Saskatchewan.

I went inside and did a crossword.

Two days after this,  it snowed again and went down to -11.  When The Mushroom hopped on the sofa and looked out of the window that morning, she howled.

Quite hard to put a positive spin on that one, actually.

The howling went on for a while. The Mushroom was too busy howling to do anything else, so asked if I could get The Baby’s breakfast ready. We looked at each other for a while, The Mushroom and I, after that particular request, and then she clearly realised that I can’t open the fridge door so she brushed herself down and got busy.

“How was your day?” asked my Dad tentatively when he arrived home to find The Mushroom sitting on the kitchen floor, gently banging her head, rhythmically, on the oven door. 

“They weren’t bullshitting, were they, when they said winter went on until May?”

My Dad sighed. “I don’t think so, love.”

“How do other people cope?”

“They like winter sports and live in proper houses and they go to Mexico a lot, I think.”

The banging on the oven intensified. “But we don’t like winter sports and we don’t live in a proper house and we haven’t been to Mexico, have we?”

“No, sweetheart. No.”

My Dad looked at his wife. She’s a city girl, is The Mushroom. Personally, I think she’s done well. Six months in a basement with no means of transport during an arctic winter has been hard for me, and I sleep most of the time, so it must have been much harder for her, cos she’s mostly awake.

“Am I going to have to take up a winter sport?” she asked. “Cos if I do, I’ll go for the bobsleigh.”

He got down on a level with her and kissed her nose, and The Baby rushed in to join whatever game this was.

“Spring will soon be here.” he said.

Phil Collins, we salute you.


3 Responses to “The Thaw, Part 2”

  1. Lorie said

    Too too funny Anna…. lol. I can so hear you singing the longjohns song. lol.

    I can identify with the appearance of the turds. They are disgusting. Wait til the thaw really happens. My theory is that they are a combination of every dog and cat in the neighborhood trying to mark their territory. it is utterly disgusting. the key is to collect them before they thaw. less grossness. Defo a job for Dean!! ha haa…
    that is what you get for talking bout bloomin lounge pants on FB.


  2. Deer Baby said

    I like you Zeebling. I think you are a quirky feline.
    I will be back for more tales. Tails?

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