As long as I take a deeeeep breath, I swear I can feel the pleasures of my single existence bloom in a manic race with the dandelions in my garden.
After yesterday´s extraordinary efforts of cleaning my playhouse external, I felt that my self-appointed status as Bob the Builder was a great start for today´s mowing.
With my ears full of Spotify and a lawn-mowers cord which reaches to the moon and back and stretches around all of my body, both dandelions and diverse crops disappeared.
Everything was perfect until I wanted to scream out of my lungs and take part in an opera arie, but Tracy Chapman’s “Save us all” made me draw my breath to new levels instead.
Because – right by my feet – a terrible, an extremely scary being stared at me with yellow teeth and two empty, completely dead eyes. Some people call it a “mouse”, I call it “anxiety”. Or “panic”. Choose whatever makes you happy.
The good thing about owning a cat is that it kills the anxiety before it gets inside our house.
And the good thing about having an animal loving and curious 8-year old with equally animal loving and curious friends, is that they exalt you as a superhero when they understand that they really get the possibility to wrap it dearly and caring into paper bags, instead of a grown up (i.e. a hysterical mom) doing it.
My superhero status was immediately turned into a “killer” status, when I denied them to bury it in our garden.
I’ll never, ever, ever have an extra unnecessary glimpse of a rodent, ergo I didn’t take a photo evidence. Instead I hereby give you a lovely selection of a homemade tulip and a relatively happy cat…