Meerkat Kit

The whole family was reading in the living room, when Kit asked us, “Why do people chop up plants to give other people?”

“You mean like firewood or more like salad?” His Dad asked him.

Kit looked pensive, “No, the dead bits have flowers on. And then they don’t even eat them; they just stare at them with a soppy smile for a week, and then throw them away.”

“They’re not supposed to be dead,” I explained.

Kit was bemused, “But they’re chopped up!” he exclaimed, “I might only be three and a half, but I know that when you chop things up, they get pretty dead!”

His Dad interjected, “They’re considered a nice romantic gift, Kit.”

“But why do they kill the flowers before they give them to you. You can get pot plants with flowers on! Who wants a bunch of corpses?” He looked to us for answers. Getting none, he continued his rant.

“It’s like…it’s like a killer giving away bits of people as presents. I like you so much, here’s a bunch of thumbs! How is that romantic?!”

“Actually I agree with you, Kit,” I laughed. “I would much rather be given a living plant. Especially a cactus. They’re really cool; I’ll show you one some time.” At this point in time, I don’t believe Kit had ever seen a cactus.

Several months had passed, when one day My Lovely Partner surprised me with….a cactus! I recognise that there are a number of ways for this to occur that would probably not be a Most Enjoyable Experience. Indeed, my own sister was once surprised by a cactus; it left her quite traumatised. However, in this instance it was actually a Rather Pleasant Surprise.

Later that same day, I was sitting admiring my prickly new companion, when Kit came barrelling in. He stopped dead in his tracks and did a double take.

“Yikes!” he squeaked, “That is one Scary-looking Cucumber!”

“It’s a cactus, Kit. Your Dad gave me a cactus,” I explained.

“I think I had a nightmare with one of those in it,” he said.

Approaching cautiously, he asked, “Is it tame?”

“Absolutely,” I assured him, “It’s just a plant. Come and help us choose a name for him.”

So we pondered, and we mused, and we deliberated. There was arguing, and sulking and raising of voices (and that was just the grown-ups). But at length, we agreed on a name befitting this, frankly, absurd-looking plant. A name to honour a great comic and writer, that also suits our scary little cucumber perfectly.

A few months ago, I was trying on lingerie in front of the bathroom mirror (for Valentine’s Day). I was unaware that three and a half year old Kit was within earshot. Being now in my middle years, to put it delicately, everything is not where it used to be. Nonetheless, I was attempting to titillate, not terrify!

I muttered under my breath, “Oh my gosh! I look a bit heavy.”

Kit peered around the door and asked, “What’s a heifer?”

I immediately corrected him, “I said heavy! I said, Oh my gosh! I look a bit heavy.”

“You did not!” he said indignantly, “You said, Oh my god! I look like a heifer! I heard you. So what’s a heifer, then?”

I sighed and replied, “It’s a big fat cow.”

He eyed me appraisingly.

“Then you don’t look like a heifer,” he said.

“Thank you, Kit.”

“Because, they have brown eyes, and yours are blue.”

“??!”

“And they don’t wear fancy undies. I saw all those cows in that great big, enormous, huge field one time. They stretched as far as the eye could see; it must have been most of the cows in the whole world” he exaggerated.

“When did you see them?” I asked.

“When you took me down to the Funny Farm, and we drove past them on the way” he explained.

I suppressed a laugh. “Kit! It’s called Strange Farm. Strange is my friend’s surname.”

“Well I was close!” he said, “Funny means strange.”

“True. But Funny Farm means something else.”

“Oh! I nearly forgot,” he interrupted, “You don’t look like a heifer because you’re not fat.” He peered at me intently for a few seconds.

“You’re wearing you’re Too Little, Too Late Face” he announced. “Dad warned me about that.” And he quickly scampered out the door.

On Good Friday, as I was preparing breakfast, Kit asked, “Are we having those Angry Hot Buns, like we had last year?”

“They’re called Hot Cross Buns!” I laughed.

“Angry Hot Buns sounds like someone who is annoyed about getting sunburned in the nether-regions. And yes, we are.”

“Can you even get sunburned in the nether-regions?” he asked. “I thought it was so cold that it sometimes snows there.”

It has certainly never snowed on my nether-regions! I mean, what kind of idiot?!

…..The penny dropped as I realized that he was thinking of the Netherlands! So I explained to him that he had better remember the difference because Dutch people might not appreciate you comparing your bottom to their country!

Somewhat subdued, he asked if he could borrow my laptop to write it out ten times, so he would remember not to offend Dutch people. “Sure. Go ahead,” I said, and forgot all about it for two days.

Yesterday morning (Easter Sunday), I flipped my laptop open to discover that Kit had carefully written out the following ten times (bless him):

Rimemba not to iffend duch peepil.

 I was pretty sure that, for all his good intentions, it hadn’t helped. So I quizzed him, “Kit, what is the name of the country we were talking about the other day?”

He pondered briefly, and proudly announced, “The Nether-regions!”

Sorry, Dutch readers! I promise he will have geography lessons when he is old enough.

Then he asked to borrow the laptop again to type out his first message to you all. And this is what it said:

ngwuert-uu1’jiWF  GEMOEROIlo,ioyelgh nhfmon

He said you would understand…

I’m not so sure.

When I asked him what it said, he got all uppity, and said that the whole point of writing is so that you can read it, and can’t I read?

So, apparently if you can’t read that, you must be illiterate. Let’s just imagine it says:

A Very Happy Easter to you and yours with love from Meerkat Kit.

 I think he would like that.