Painting the Rocks Red

“Mumma! Mumma!”

Oh, here we go. It hasn’t even been half an hour, and the Tiny Gremlin is back at it with her screeching for Mother.

“Charlotte, honey, Mumma’s talking with her friends right now,” Mother tries to calm the Gremlin down, her hands on each tiny shoulder, yet failing miserably in controlling the incessant bouncing.

“But Mumma!” I know how to fix it! I do!”

Mother sighs heavily and looks to her friends for aid, but they only offer smiles and giggles poorly hidden behind manicured and polished nails. Lot of good that does, their claws pale in comparison to mine.

“Of course you do. Why don’t you go tell Daddy?”

The Gremlin begins jumping around and shrieking once more, thundering through the room and nearly knocking me out of my sunbathing spot.

How rude!

“Charlotte! Be careful!”

But the Gremlin didn’t hear – she is much too preoccupied with hunting down the Tall One. I watched with one eye slightly open as she bounded through the castle, bending down and lifting the tablecloth for a peek. Goodness, and they’ve told me this creature was intelligent for someone her age.

“Good to see your cat is unfazed by her,” I hear one of Mother’s friends giggle, reaching up to pet me.

I lean back just far enough where her skinny crumb-coated fingers strain but cannot reach. Foolish human, I will allow you to pet me when you are as clean as me.

Mother smiles at my gesture.

“Yes, Reginald is a good boy. He loves his sister very much. Just this morning I caught him sleeping with her!”

Hmph. What a ridiculous notion. I only sleep with the Gremlin because she is a walking space heater.

“Mumma! Mumma! Is Daddy outside? I can’t find him!”

“Why don’t you go check?”

The Gremlin shoots out the room as fast as her fat little legs can carry her. I hear her grunt and twist the brass doorknob to the front door. Always so dramatic whenever she pulls that thing open. Her footsteps are uneven as she slowly clambers down the front stairs. She fell down them when the Tall One forgot to sprinkle the large clumps of salt this past winter and hit her head. She cried for hours and had this ugly red bump on her forehead. I only stayed with her the whole night because Mother and the Tall One weren’t checking in on her every 15 minutes. That’s what Mothers are supposed to do with their young ones. That’s what my Mama did.

“Daaaaddy…”

Gremlin’s faint calls to the Tall One go unanswered. Of course they would. He was most likely spending time with the other Tall Ones Mother’s friends came with, showing off with their loud trucks and even louder “four-wheelers” as they called them. Ugly, that’s what they should be calling those despicable machines instead.

I hear Gremlin call again for the Tall One. Then, I hear something I do not ever like: sniffling. Not the kind where you have a cold, or the weather has turned chilly. I mean the one where it’s coupled with tears leaking from the eyeballs.

I jump from my grand pedestal and saunter my way to the Kitty flap the Tall One installed for me. He didn’t want to, saying cats don’t need this sort of thing, but his tune quickly changed when I yowled and yodeled through the early morning hours. I always knew he was no match for me.

It took some time, but I found the Gremlin sitting in the garden, clutching several smooth grey rocks. She wasn’t whimpering or sobbing, but fat tears did roll down her cheeks. Slowly, I waltz into her vision and make a grand display of sitting down in front of her.

“Hi Reggie…” Gremlin sighed.

“mah” I chirp in answer.

“No one wants to listen to me,” she shows me the rocks in her hands. “I just want to paint them red. So we can eat strawberries together.”

I tilt my head and stare at the stones, then up at her. Painting the rocks red? What a strange idea. One of the strangest ones she’s told me. She must have gotten it from the odd movie about a little blonde girl and the white rabbit she made me watch with her. Still, if it’s something she wants to do…

She doesn’t notice at first when I inch closer. She only looks up when my whiskers are tickling her cheeks and I’m licking away the tears.

“Reggie! That hurts!” She giggles.

Instead of pushing me away, she hugs me tight and burrows her face into my beautiful long black fur. Normally I don’t like it when she does this, but this is an exception I suppose. I push the remaining rocks out of the way and settle into her lap. My purr rumbles deep in my chest as I rub her ear with my teeth. No one gets to make this Gremlin sad except for me. That’s my job. Mine and mine alone.

Her breathing becomes more even and her sniffling ceases. Good. She’s calming down. It would be a nightmare if she continued to get my fur wet. Think of all the grooming I would have to do!

“Meaaah.” I meow and yawn into her ear. Okay Gremlin, time to let go.

I feel her arms loosen and allow me to jump out of her lap. She’s still quiet while I paw at the rocks, making them shift and skirt around the cobblestone pathway.

Paint. The Gremlin wants paint. Oh yes! The Tall One has cans filled with the vile smelling goop in the garage. I nudge the Gremlin hard in the knee with my head and trot over toward the giant metal door. I don’t hear any footsteps behind me, so I turn and find her still sitting down. She turns the rocks in her hands over and over, occasionally clacking them together.

“Mwwwaaaaaaaaaahh!” I yell at her.

“What Reggie?” She looks at me with sad kitten eyes. Must she do that?

“Meeeeeeaaaaaah.” I insist.

Gremlin sighs and gets up like a kitten drunk on too much catnip. The rocks drop from her hands as she follows me toward the garage. The front metal door is left wide open. The Tall One must have forgotten to close it. Either that, or he intends on coming back soon. Hmph.

It takes a moment for the Gremlin to understand what I’m trying to show her, but her eyes light up once she sees the plain

“Daddy has paint!” She squeals.

She’s too short to reach the metal twist handle by herself, but I sit and clean my face while she finds a stool to climb. The metal door swung open with a horrible squeak that hurt my ears, but of course the little Gremlin wasn’t fazed by it.

Since neither of us didn’t know where the brushes were, (what – am I supposed to know everything?) Gremlin took the next logical step to paint the rocks: dunking them into the can, hand and all. The tomato-colored liquid dried surprisingly fast; we only had to wait for a short while. Once they were dry, the Tiny Gremlin gathered as many as her chubby little arms could carry and made her way to the strawberry patch the Tall One had planted several Springs ago. Whether or not I actually helped the creature carry the stones with my mouth, I will never tell. Nor will I ever admit if confronted.

Her plan was rather simple. I’m surprised I didn’t come up with it myself, since I am so brilliant and all at catching mice and other annoying bugs. I watch from under one of the bushes, snacking on an early strawberry, as the Gremlin drops a painted rock here and there. I think it would be better off if she drops them in more of a pretty pattern, but she continued her execution anyway. I still don’t believe this would work though; the rocks don’t look anything like strawberries. Then again, I am much smarter than those dumb crows.

It took forever for Mother and the Tall One to find her. By that time, the deed was done, and the trap was set.  Poor Mother almost fainted when she saw all the dried paint on Gremlin’s arms and dress. I suppose it must have looked like she got into something dangerous, but even I could tell it was just paint by smelling her. No need to be so dramatic. The Tall One was quite displeased when he saw little red handprints all over his concrete floor. But after I bit him when he tried to yell at the Gremlin, and she got them to follow her to the garden, they somewhat calmed down and became curious. To which they should, in my honest opinion. This plan of the Gremlin’s is intriguing to say the least.

It didn’t take long for the Gremlin’s plan to start working. Once we all left the patch and enjoyed some lemonade and cookies –lemon snaps for me – several crows decided they would try to take the few early strawberries there were. Only, instead of going for the red ones still on the bushes, they somehow decided those waiting on the ground would be better. Soon all you could hear was frustrated cawing, determined taps, and ruffling feathers as each stupid bird tries to prove they’re stronger than the rest and can eat the fake berries.

My God, the Tiny Gremlin has done it. We’re going to eat strawberries for days!