If all my days could pass like this

Getting the cat. From the airport. There are cheaper ways to acquire a cat but none more exciting.

Everything about the cat. The mirth of kittens. And especially the mirth of little girls and their kittens. The way that cat arranges herself around our house like an exquisite ornament. Lauca’s obsession with all things contraband. Her meat obsession now has a legitimate outlet. The cat eats meat.

And her wedding obsession. She dressed her father up as a bride. I might even marry him when he looks this bootifool.

Becoming a godmother.

Summer in the water. Watching her learn to swim by rushing to keep up with her precocious friend. (You know, we’ve been trying to teach you those things in the water for a while now and you adamantly refused to learn them, but because your friend does them, well if she jumped off a cliff would you, yep.).

The knot in the ribbon, that I can’t possibly untie. Because it is Lauca’s first knot, the one she tied all. by. herself. The weed flowers she picks me when he and her go for a walk. Him, for teaching her to bring me flowers.

Discovering that she can dance (there was at least a 50% chance that she would be a ‘drunk only’ dancer like her father), with rhythm and style and some moves. And especially when she dances wearing wings and tinsel in her ratty hair and not much else, looking like Courtney Love.

Her toilet talk shtick. Not one of my favourite things, but most definitely one of Lauca’s. How she loves to interchange perfectly reasonable words in her sentences with ‘poo’ and ‘bottom’ and ‘penis’ and ‘gina’.

I’m having penis eggs on toast for breakfast.

Never gets old, as you can imagine.

I’m poo years old.

If you’re a ‘gina and you know it, clap your hands.

Sigh.