Swinging
April 23, 2025 — 8:20pm
Dear Reese,
After dinner, we go swinging.
It’s something we can do now, finally. Enough light in the evening. Enough warmth in the day. Enough time in the routine.
You swing and smile and stare transfixed, all around you. Then, I carry you around the grounds. We walk down to the docks and look at the ducks. The sun is shining a blinding light on the surface of the water. On the wind, it smells like summer, just a little.
“This,” I tell you, “ this is why we live here, by the water.”
Love,
Mama
The Knight & The Cursed Forest, Part 13
Mr. Whiskers extends his claws, and you approach the bridge, lily pad shield at your side. This cat has always had it out for you, it’s no wonder he’s invoking a rite of passage by combat.
The cat hisses as you raise your shield. “No cheating,” he says. “You don’t see me with a weapon.”
“If only I had claws,” you say sarcastically, but set the shield down and step onto the bridge.
Mr. Whiskers lunges, and you barely avoid getting a face full of cat. One sharp claw nicks you, and your hand stings as a thin scratch appears.
From there, it’s a matter of dodging and chasing. You go back and forth on the bridge, respecting the natural boundaries of the arena. But Mr. Whiskers, like all cats, seems to wiggle out of every corner and then come back with a bite and a swipe.
You try a new tactic and stay in one spot at the edge of the bridge where it meets land.
“Giving up,” Mr. Whiskers taunts when he notices you’ve stopped the chase.
“I’m right here,” you say, and he runs and leaps at you. This time, you have a clear view of him coming and manage to dodge and then grab at the back of his neck. Got him!
You hold him by the scruff as he twists and turns, but then you take another hand and scratch behind his ears.
He goes limp and lets out a long purrrrrrrr.
“Nice kitty,” you say.
You keep scratching, and eventually Mr. Whiskers says, still purring, “Fine, you’ve defeated me with my one weakness. You may cross. But don’t share this information with anyone! The safety of your home depends on me guarding this bridge with all my might.”
“Of course,” you say, and set Mr. Whiskers down. At last, the duck and you cross the bridge and head to your home.
To be continued.