Toby And Harold: A Love Story

Y’all know I spoil the cats. Spoil them rotten. They’re my BAYBEES, after all, and yeah, I let Lulu do whatever she wants, and I let Finny nurse on my lip, and Toby…Well Toby didn’t really give any demands at first, being the teeny little bit that he was. I was more concerned that I’d step on Toby than anything else, I mean, the damn thing was SO TINY, remember?

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Absurdly small, he was, and not so much with the troublemaking, (I weep with laughter now at that statement) so I thought he would just, I dunno, STAY Mama’s tiny little angel baby and all would be well.

OH HOW TIMES HAVE CHANGED.

Toby is now a big boy, and does everything his ginger brother does (bad things) and is just as weird as his ginger brother (very weird) and you can usually find him practically GLUED to Finn’s side, or getting his face washed by Lulu (sucker) or sleeping in the windowsill, or biting me. More like gnawing. He’s a biter, that Tobes. But anyway, all this is not the point of the story.

I have, as of late, been on a weird food kick. This is nothing new. I tend to get obsessed with a particular food and eat only it until I am viciously sick of it. Right now it’s edamame and sugar free pudding cups. Stop looking at me like that. But Miss B, you ask, confused, what in the name of god’s pants does this have to do with Toby, or ANYTHING, really? Stick with me on this one.

The other night I had devoured my edamame and was sitting at the computer, enjoying my pudding cup when I heard a crash in the kitchen. This is nothing new, as the boys can now both get up on the counter and stove and enjoy doing things like tipping over the garbage and knocking full bottles of balsamic vinegar off the counter. It’s a grand talent they have, rilly it is. So anyway, I didn’t hear any glass breaking, so I didn’t leap to attention. It could wait till I was done with my pudding.

Then there was a scuttle in the kitchen, and into the front room tore Finn and Toby at top speed, flinging themselves into the windowsill. Also nothing to get excited about, they do this all the time. (I have very sturdy screens in the windows, and I live on the ground floor, so don’t fret) so, whatever, the boys were playing, back to my pudding.

Then Toby jumped onto my chest (nothing new) and stuck his ass in my face (old news) and climbed about my head and shoulders for a bit, and that’s when I saw what was in his mouth. It was an edamame pod. Just hanging out of his mouth like a little green cigar. Well, I thought to myself, that came out of the garbage, which means the sound from the kitchen was the garbage tipping over, wonderful, and give me that, that does not belong to you. I took the pod, threw it back in the garbage, and returned to the sad remnants of my pudding. (Finn ate it. Don’t worry, it was vanilla, not chocolate.)

Ten seconds later, Toby returned with the pod in his mouth. At this point, I was writing, so I said fuck it, it’s not like it’s toxic or anything, let him have the dumb soybean pod, whatever. But he wasn’t just carrying it around, OH NO. He was playing with it, flipping it in the air, pouncing on it, rooooooolling around on it, and chattering to it. Toby, I realized, had found a new best friend.

Finn, at this point, wanted in on the action, and tried to get the pod for himself. And Toby? Little Toby? My precious tiny little angel baby Toby? Socked Finn right in the mouth. That pod was TOBY’S. So I did what any other frazzled mother of twins does. I went to the garbage and got Finn a pod of his own. I’m not proud of this, it’s just the way it happened, okay?

Toby played with that damn pod all night long. When I awoke in the morning, it was in the bed. I threw it away again. Toby followed me to the garbage, bit me on the ankle, and retrieved the pod. In the meantime, he was now fighting with Finn, who didn’t care about his OWN pod, OH NO, he wanted TOBY’S, and there was nothing I could do about it. That’s when my sleep deprived brain took over and I said, out loud, to an empty apartment, that I didn’t care, have fun with the pod, you freaks. (I’ve had insomnia again, so when I say “I woke up in the morning” I mean “I woke up after being asleep for 45 minutes, which is all the sleep I had been getting as of late.) So day two of the stupid soybean pod commenced.

I, naturally, consulted the internet. “Name it!” my friends crowed. “Put GOOGLY EYES ON IT!!!” they howled. “It’s PART OF THE FAMILY NOW” they insisted. So I did what any other psychotic freakshow would have done. I named the pod Harold. I would have put googly eyes on it, but I don’t have any at the moment.

So now Toby and Harold are best pals. I find Harold in places like my shoes, the bed, the shower, the windowsill, and under the fridge, where I have to RESCUE HIM and give him back to Toby, lest there be wailing and sobbing. And Finn still isn’t allowed to play with him.

Harold’s looking a little worse for the wear today, so I think I’ll replace him with Harold 2.0 after my lunch of soybeans and pudding. I hope Toby doesn’t notice.

He’s totally going to notice.

So that’s what’s been going on! Toby is in sweet, homosexual love with a piece of compost, and I’m encouraging it. Because I am insane. So ya know, status quo.

Tongue


Comments

Toby And Harold: A Love Story — 8 Comments

  1. We have all manner of items floating around that are the cats’ MOST FAVORITE possessions, because we seem to lose the ability to say “no” when they fall in love. There are bits of string, the plastic tab from around the milk container, a stray cricket that has stumbled into the house. You know, normal stuff:)

  2. Hilarious.
    I’m so glad my sweeties don’t get on the counter or into the trash. They totally could, they’ve just never realized it. 😀

  3. I love this! When Bella & Zero were little, Bella’s favorite thing in the world was a wine cork she snagged from the garbage. I found it and threw it away a half dozen times before I gave up. She’d toss it around, chirp to it and carry it around in her mouth. If a human picked it up and threw it, she’d appear (sometimes out of nowhere) to run after it. She even brought it to bed on occasion. I called it her Babydoll Cork. In my head, it wore a little pink dress….

  4. Where’s the picture of Harold? If he’s one of the kids now. Or maybe Harold 2.0? Maybe you can draw eyes on him with a Sharpie.
    (I’m really happy to have a Sunday post, btw. When are the kids going to start blogging?)

  5. Yes, we definitely need to see a pic of Toby and one of the Harolds together. More gruesome but in the same spirit, my whippet, Hermes used to do this with the mice and birds he killed in the yard (we have a dog door). I called them “my buddy”.

  6. Pingback: This Is Not A Game | Inverse Candlelight

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