Clare picked up a stick today that resembled a divining rod and started walking toward the road. Sugar, her pet cat/guerrilla warfare enemy, started running toward us. Clare saw him , smiled broadly, and ran back toward him (with the stick).
"Hey, Sugar, let's play stick" she yelled.
As she darts down the driveway with the thing, I'm thinking to myself, "Wow, she's about to wail on Sugar." I was right. Not such a fun game. I tried to explain that being hit with a stick, even if the person hitting you is happy and laughing, really isn't a lot of fun. What I didn't realize at that time was that he was waiting for his opportunity to play his game with Clare. Oh, it was on.
Fast forward twenty minutes. She's sitting next to him, while he is calmly draped over a railroad tie, in a moment that can only be described as angelic. Mason and I are commenting on their love for each other and how she'll never have a cat love her as much as Sugar does. She's rubbing his head and he's loving all of her affection. It was a really sweet moment right up until the moment when she left her arm near him, but turned her head toward us with a smile that said, "isn't he just perfect?"
With one single swipe, the love was gone and she was screaming with a gashed and bloody arm. Sugar got up and sauntered into the garage with what I can only imagine was a look that said, "How do you like that game, huh? Claws with Clare is my favorite. Next time you better check yo'self with that stick." Meanwhile Clare, between her gasps and screams, was asking me why Sugar would do this because she was being so gentle and sweet. At this point, I might mention that I am laughing uncontrollably. It was such a horrible parenting moment. I'm not sure what was sadder, the fact that Clare was screaming crying with a gashed and bloody arm, or that we were both laughing so hard that all we could do was comfort her as we laughed. We'll just write this one down in her book for her therapist later on.