Staring at the Lawn Muffins

CW: Swearing, a fat cat, drop-kick ex, some defecation, frogs...

“I can’t take any more of this shit,” The Man says and walks out the door, slamming it behind him so hard the windows rattle and several of The Hellions begin to cry.

The Lady gathers The Hellions into a pile, and they weep and wail, holding onto each other in a heaving heap of misery.

While I don’t desire to exit as dramatically as The Man, I too cannot cope with the level of negative emotion in the room, and I flop off the couch and saunter outside to stare at the lawn muffins.

#

Over the next few days, The Lady is uncharacteristically subdued. The Hellions play, largely without dueling, and dinner is devoid of explosive bursts of emotion regarding the contents of their plates.

But perhaps the most noticeable difference is the absence of shouting. The lack of smashing bottles and thumping fists.

The house is Quiet.

And I’ve been forgotten.

Around the third day after the Exodus of The Man, I eat the last stale pellet from my bowl's surrounding area and saunter into the kitchen to rub against The Lady’s legs. She slams her coffee mug onto the kitchen bench.

“Has anyone fed the bloody animals?” she asks.

The Hellions stare at her with glassy eyes. Feeding the animals, this is a ‘her problem’, not a ‘them problem’.

 “Shit,” she says and scuttles into the garage.

My heart soars, and although I feel somewhat miffed she hasn’t fed me first, I slink outside, and crouch under the sun lounger, waiting. I enjoy this ritual. And I have been missing it.

The bag rustles in the garage, and the pellets tinkle as they tip into the cup. I flatten myself, muscles bunching, ready, waiting. She walks across the deck, her feet whispering on the wood. She doesn’t see me.

Not yet.

She steps onto the lawn and enters the domain of the floppy-eared, vacant-eyed lawn muffins. They prick their stupid ears and hop vigorously towards her. It appears they, too, have been missing this ritual. I wriggle, the anticipation building. She bends down and turns over their bowl.

Now.

I charge across the deck, back humped, feet flying, and with each thundering stride I hurtle towards her like a great hairy cannonball.

The timing of my arrival is perfect and as she tips the pellets into the bowl, I catch the sweet, culinary delights in my mouth before she or those other useless twats can intervene.

“Bloody hell, Odin,” she says, resting a hand on her hip, “You can't eat this. It’s rabbit food, and you’re a cat, for God’s sake.” She nudges me gently with her toe, and I ignore her, relishing in the interaction's normalcy. Besides, if I must refrain from eating the lawn muffins, then their food is a positive alternative. It’s delicious.

#

Three weeks after the Exodus of The Man, The Lady gathers The Hellions and explains she must return To Work. Somehow, this return requires them to sacrifice various sporting engagements and comes with a total ban on all expenditures, except the most essential of items. The levels of negative emotion in the room reach critical and I stroll outside to stare at the lawn muffins.

A slinky black cat is crouched on the lawn, stalking its prey. My back prickles and my breath catches in my throat. While I usually try to avoid unpleasant exchanges, rage builds inside me and I know I must act.

If anyone is going to eat the lawn muffins, it’s going to be me.

I charge across the lawn and leap at the black cat, sending the lawn muffins scattering, darting under the deck. The black cat is on top of me. Biting. Kicking. Screaming.

It hurts.

A lot.

Then The Lady is there, swopping, flapping, picking me up. My back is wet and sticky, and the coppery smell of blood sticks in my nostrils. My bowels twist as I realise it’s mine.

The Hellions gather round, talking in hushed, worried tones. The Oldest Hellion speaks first. “He needs the vet, Mum.”

And the Youngest Hellion, eyes wide and lip trembling, whispers, “Is Odin essential, Mum?”

The Lady sighs. “Come on, shoes on, get in the van.”

#

I endure an utterly disagreeable car ride and then suffer unspeakable atrocities at the hands of the vet. The unpleasantness intensifies when the vet describes what he refers to as The Treatment Plan.

To be honest, I’m not a fan.

Apparently, The Lady isn’t either. “How much is this all going to cost?” she asks.

The vet glances at The Hellions and lowers his voice. “We don’t have to go ahead with the treatment. There is another option.”

The Lady sighs and runs her hands over her face. “No, I’m not bloody doing that,” she snaps.

The vet nods and then coughs a couple of times. Gently. Like he’s got something stuck in his throat. I briefly wonder if he’s going to have a hairball. “I also need to tell you, he’s a bit overweight,” he says, lifting me off the scales.

The Lady freezes and all expression falls off her face. The Man and her often encountered heated conflict around this matter. He intoned I was consuming surplus to my dietary requirements. And that I was, in general, surplus to requirements. He provided various ideas to remedy the situation, none of which appealed to me.

The Lady watches the vet with her raptor eyes. Trouble is coming. I can feel it in my bowels.

The vet coughs again and continues. “He could do with losing a bit of weight.” Cough. “About three kilos, to be honest. Like, about thirty percent of his body weight.”

And The Lady raises an eyebrow, slicing it upwards with such venom that I scuttle off the table and defecate in the corner.

The Hellions stare, mouths slack, eyes wide and the Youngest Hellion raises a finger, pointing, but The Lady stays focused on the vet, holding him captive with her steely gaze.

“Try weighing him now,” she says.

A tingle of relief crawls across my back. The Lady is stepping into her power. No Man will come between her and me again.

#

If The Hellions were upset about their lack of sporting activities, I’m utterly distraught about the severe food crisis since returning from the vets. Last week, The Lady swiped a mandarin off me before I was even halfway through. She guards the lawn muffin’s food with the same vigour she guards her chocolate stash from The Hellions, and mealtimes are enforced with military precision. No second breakfast here, thank you.

In desperation, I attempt to leap onto the kitchen bench to pilfer some of The Hellion's dinner The Lady is cooking.

And miss.

I dangle from the bench top, front legs clambering and back legs furiously kicking, trying to haul myself up. But I can’t. And I thump onto the ground.

The Lady looks at me. I expect to see her laughing, or smirking, or even raising a terrifying eyebrow, but she just looks sad. She bends down, scooping me into her arms.

“Poor wee guy,” she says, softly. “It’s just so hard.” Her voice cracks, and she presses me against her chest. “God, I hate this. I’m so sick of doing this on my own.”  

This comes as surprising news on multiple fronts. Firstly, because the house is packed with Hellions and she’s never alone. And secondly, it seems her life’s mission is to suck the joy right out of life. Even The Hellions agree with me on that one.

But I smooch into her and tactfully ignore the wetness leaking from her eyes.

#

The Lady’s outburst earlier in the day has left me feeling unsettled. It’s time for action. I saunter outside to bathe in the moonlight.

The lawn muffins are staring intently at something on the lawn, and it irks me to think they possess knowledge I do not, so I stroll over.

They’re looking at a creature, small and slimy, and before I register my actions, I’m leaping, mouth open, flying through the air, my jaws closing.

And I’ve caught the creature.

That’s quite a surprise. I didn’t see it coming.

I’m not entirely sure of the protocol, so I carry my prize inside, largely so I’m out of view of the lawn muffins in the event of any unfortunate incidents during this next phase.

I drop the creature in the hallway, outside the study door, not ready to eat it yet. A pale light spills out from under the door. The Lady is in there. And she’s Working. My bowels quiver.

Given The Lady’s fixation on my calorie intake, I think it pertinent to eat my prize at the other end of the hallway. I open my mouth, ready to pick up the creature, but it makes a most unholy and uncivilised noise. I glance at the closed study door. It must be channelling vitriol from The Lady herself.

I try again, hopeful that my supper will be silent, but alas, no, it shrieks and screams with vigour I never dreamed possible. I slink back a couple of steps, just to be sure.

The study door flies open and there, silhouetted in the light, stands The Lady. She looks at me and then her gaze drops to the creature. She recoils into the study, stumbling back, crashing into her desk.

“Oh my God,” she gasps. “What the hell is that?”

I puff up my tail and slink under the table, my heart pounding. To think I never knew I was in such danger.

The Lady reaches out, her fingers trembling, and fumbles with the light switch. Light floods the hallway and the creature springs up, twisting itself over to reveal a bright green side.

The Lady makes a strange sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Bloody hell. It’s a bloody frog.” She looks at me. “It scared the shit out of me.” She shakes her head. “I’m talking to the cat. This is a shitshow.”

I briefly consider moving closer to investigate The Frog, but her reaction scared me and I’m staying put under the table until I’m sure it’s not dangerous.

The Lady dithers in the hallway before retreating into the kitchen and emerging with a tea towel. She throws it at The Frog a couple of times before it becomes apparent she’s grossly overestimated her ability to throw a tea towel over a Frog.

She retreats into the kitchen again and returns with a sieve, which she brandishes in the creature's general direction. But given she never gets within three feet of it, the endeavour is largely unsuccessful.

After another trip to the kitchen, and she returns with a Tupperware container, which she throws. It’s not her most solid plan. The container lands next to The Frog and it screams, loud shrieks piercing through the night. My back prickles.

She pauses, then leans on one foot, stretching out and uses the sieve to drag the container closer, maximizing the distance between them. The Lady is a tenacious woman.

She throws it again, and by some miracle of God, it lands on The Frog. We both breathe a sigh of relief. The Lady runs her hands through her hair, her fingers trembling. Then The Frog erupts from the container, screaming with all the scorn of a hellfire demon and sticks half a metre up the wall.

The Lady turns and calmly walks into the kitchen. And then she crumples in on herself, slumping over the kitchen bench and sobs. Here she is, brought to her knees, reduced to the mental fortitude of The Hellions. By a Frog, no less.

The situation is dire. And with no regard for my personal safety, I slink out from under the kitchen table and rub against her legs. It takes a moment, several rubs, some smooching, but finally, as my gums graze over her legs with my open-lip-caress, she stops and picks me up.

“Oh Odin,” she says, her voice husky. “Pete always dealt with the shit you brought in. I’m glad the bastard’s gone, but sometimes…” she trails off.

Behind her, the Oldest Hellion is watching. He rubs his eyes and steps forward.

“Mum?” he asks.

“Go back to bed, love. Odin’s caught a frog and I’m just catching it.”

I wouldn’t exactly call what she’s doing catching The Frog.

“Where is it?” he asks.

The Lady pauses, her gaze flicking between him and The Frog. “It’s in the hallway,” she says, finally.

The Oldest Hellion turns, shuffling into the hallway. “I’ll get it,” he says.

“Careful, it screams,” she says.

To be fair, that’s probably because she keeps throwing Tupperware at it, but as I feel at least somewhat responsible for this debacle, I don’t comment.

“There’s a tea towel and a…” She trails off as he walks past the various Frog catching paraphernalia strewn across the hallway and picks up The Frog.

“Where do you want it?” he asks.

She pauses, blinks a few times, and stares at him the way I stare at a new food, realising its potential and excited by hope and possibility. “Outside would be good,” she replies.

As the Oldest Hellion steps onto the lawn, she presses her fingers into my fur and strokes me gently. “Bloody hell, Odin,” she says. “We might just be okay.”

The Lady is tenacious, resourceful, and strong. She can get through anything. Besides, she’s got The Hellions and me. She's going to be just fine.

So, I jump out of her arms and saunter outside to stare at the lawn muffins.