on birthday presence

and fighting cats

It was my sisters’ birthday the other night.

Currently, our combined age is 100 years old.

That’s a bit odd.

She came over and she took me to the grocery store.

What a treat eh?

For her birthday, I purchased her exactly four hundred grams of bulk candy. It may have cost four dollars and fifty six cents.

I’m a big spender eh?

She’s used to it.

There have been times when I’ve been terrible at earning a living.

Then?

There have been times that I’ve been much worse.

In our childhood, she wanted me to love and approve of her.

When she was first born, I was so proud to tell everyone about my little sister.

And then?

Well then there were the times I was an utter prick to her. Like unforgivably mean.

I’d blame myself but this is what happens when your parents leave you in charge of a defiant monkey.

Well.

She didn’t then and doesn’t now have a tail.

Thought the whole ‘defiant’ thing?

She doesn’t have to be that.

Instead?

She’s in charge a lot of the time.

And?

She does a really great job of it.

There are times that I delude myself into thinking that she learned how to have such a strong backbone by having to deal with a ruthlessly mean older brother.

But in doing that I’m giving myself too much credit and not enough to her.

Which I guess is the ultimate older brother thing to do.

So, given this, I’ll continue to delude myself with the notion that the force of nature that sat in my living room the other night was my creation.

(even though she and I both know better, as an older brother I do need to maintain some sort of conceit)

We talked for quite a while. I love hearing how she plans things. She’s incredible at dissecting a situation, making plans and executing projects with few bumps and grinds along the way.

And that by the way is what my brother in law is for. He’s not just Mr Bump and Grind. He grinds out the bumps and smooths out the turbulence that comes with every well made plan.

Just before my sister left, Trevor the cat pinned down and just beat the crap outta his sister Suki

Trevor is a big boy. He weighs about twenty pounds. Suki, his pesky little sister, is about half his size.

As he did this, there was a lot of yeowling. Fur did fly.

And my sister?

She had big eyes.

What’s he doing to her?

Now, I love my sister. She’ one of my favorite people on this earth.

And?

And I’m a fucking troll.

He’s beating the shit out of her. He’s bigger than her. He does this every day.

I said this kinda matter of factly and kind of like it somewhat amused me.

TREVOR! DON’T BE SUCH AN ASSHOLE.

I smirked

Oh come now. They aren’t children. They’re animals. No point in imposing human values on animals.

It wasn’t long after that that she left.

I felt uneasy.

I love her very much.

And?

I suspected that she saw a little more in that exchange than was really there.

I saw her a couple of days later.

We didn’t speak about the cat beating up his sister.

But, I do remember that before she left I told her this:

One minute their beating the crap out of each other, the next, they’re asleep beside each other, curled up in this chair by the fireplace.

They give each other great comfort while at the same time cause each other great distress.

Which then begs the question dear reader:

What else are families for?