…two little black cats, that is. Two happy little black stuffed kitties, and an even happier little girl!
With the Maiden sick with the flu (and exceptionally annoyed by my refusal to let her go sneeze all over her unsuspecting classmates), we decided that a visit from her original lost-and-then-replaced-and-then-found stuffed kitty would be a welcome cheer-up medicine. We decide to go the story route (thanks, Therese!) to explain the mixup, and carefully laid out our plans.
What fools we were.
We set the stage. Just like last time, we propped up her original Choco outside the front door and had him “ring” the doorbell. Just like last time, she rushed over to the door, fumbling the doorknob with joy when she saw who was waiting for her.
As she cradled her original Choco, now “baby Choco”, in her arms, the Man and I launched into our elaborate and jumbled tale of lost kitty brothers and long journeys home.
She completely ignored us.
That’s right. All our planning and fussing was for nothing. The Maiden neither wanted nor needed an explanation. Our story was the blah blah blah of the adults in the Charlie Brown movies, and she didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to what we’d said. Her interest was solely centered upon welcoming the new addition to her kittycat family.
Later, during the quiet of bedtime, I raised the question of baby-Choco’s sudden appearance. “Where do you think he came from?” I asked casually.
“Oh, Daddy bought him for me because I’m sick,” she replied.
Wow. The simplicity. I wonder how many other overcomplicated problems could be solved if we thought with the mind of a child…