Mum is bent over the kitchen worktop sifting through a pile of soggy junk mail, peeling something of the back of a takeaway pizza menu. I hope both my parents haven’t gone mad, who’ll raise me? I still need much parenting.
“Are you making that noise?” I ask.
“Yes!” she cries, without looking up. “Quick, get some black clothes on.”
“Black clothes?” says Lav, who’s inserted herself into her skinny jeans and is now behind me. “Are we doing a burglary?”
“Emergency mime?” I suggest. (Pretty pleased with that.)
“No!” Mum wails. “Your uncle…” She peers closely at the peeled off piece of wet post.
“… Hamish, no Harold, died last week. I didn’t realize the funeral was today. Get dressed!”
I had Random.org select a page for me. It decided page 178 is the best.
For the rest of the day (with several breaks like shady naps, water bowl slurps, and mini-burger bites), Air Fur One entertained our guests with his incredible antics.
Nobody wanted to the leave the Wonderland. They wanted to play Frolf with the world’s cutest and furriest caddie. It was amazing to watch the dog do the one thing he loved more than anything in the world: chase after a floating disc, acrobatically snag his target, and trot back triumphantly.
In the afternoon, Jimbo and I taught Air Fur One a new trick: dunking!