Scrabble - a dangerous pastime?
Freddy slipped and banged his head and scratched his arm. Nothing unusual about that - six-year-olds do this stuff all the time. But he was sitting down at the time, on a neighbour’s front step. Playing Scrabble.
His injuries are minor though - they’re nothing to what I’m going to do to Jack if he doesn’t stop talking soon. It’s been non-stop for about four weeks. At the top of his voice. Constantly. 
Argh!
Me (tearing hair out): “Please, please be quiet, just for five minutes!!!”
Jack: “Quiet? Five minutes? Okay. I go play outside wif my friends. My friends play on swings. I get golf club. I….” etc etc.
Barney is sulking, because the cat belonging to the girl across the street has six-week-old kittens and he thinks we should have one of them. Never mind that we already have two cats. And another cat who adopted the previous owners of the house (they tried to catch him to take him with them when they moved, but he wasn’t having it) and so has a shelter and food-bowl out the back and who, although he’s too scared to come into the house, clearly expects us to feed him (which we do). And never mind that Scratchy barely tolerates the existence of any of those cats. We should get a kitten. Yeah, right.
In: animals, family, social stuff
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