At the sound of the Folks sliding open the door in the afternoon for our ‘business’ outside, we would whine. Our earliest memory of summer madness is of an orchestra of this whining and our Folks’ voices trying to con us into believing that our burning paws in the few seconds that we were put on the mud of our litter corner would be alright.
We are done with our ‘firsts’. We are now on our second summer, and how things change! Those soft murmurs and caresses have transformed into “Zaza, Snuggles, s–u time!” If we hold back, it turns to, “OK, your wish. Let your bladder burst!” And the door slides shut. Of course, it is another matter that five minutes later, once the Folks have settled down to doing something, we go up to them panting and restless and they have to get up to let us out. Serves them right! Why can’t they stand at the door for a few minutes more than the point their patience first runs out? They don’t have pads on their paws that burn if they stand in the heat… And it’s only once in the afternoon that they have to do this; our main ‘business’ is anyway downstairs, complete with all the paraphernalia for poo packets (Of poo packets and HS types), except that the reversal of time from the late morning and early evening of winter to early morning and late evening of summer has us running for our leashes at quite the wrong hour of the day and snoring peaceably when we should be at the door.
With the temperature already hitting 42 C here, our home at any given time sounds like a railway yard with the two of us panting like railway engines. The Folks do try their best. In fact, Big Sis has this bone to pick with Mom that as kids she and Big Bro were never allowed as much air conditioning as we are – something about making kids grow up
tough. The rule, of course, does not apply to Mom’s darlings. If the AC is not on, the vents of the air cooler are directly on us. So Mom and we have figured out this spot in her room and the correct angle of the sofa on or near which we can all lie, sleep, watch TV, and have the blast on us full on at the same time. Working this out took a little bit of geometry, pushing, shoving, snapping, and moulding Mom to contort her knees and back at the most unimaginable angles. Eventually we got it to work for us.
We know that drinking water – staying “hydrated” as the humans say – is important. So it is an undeniable duty of our Folks to pour fresh water into our bowl ever so often. We are not the trusting types, so until the water is poured before our very eyes, we do not drink – never mind if our tongues hang to the floor and there are blobs of saliva all over. Mom and Big Sis have given up expecting a bowl filled with water to turn half empty by itself. The hydrating process runs thus: if desire for water has not already been anticipated by Mom and Big Sis and the needful done, move slowly towards whoever is in plain sight, sidestepping the water bowl – exhale and spurt oral moisture on exposed part of body of said person – indulge in a battle of wills wherein one will points the bowl out to the other – wait for one will to buckle – accompany to RO unit to keep an eye on things – lead the way to the water bowl – watch while the pouring is done – lap sloppily – wait for someone to either slip in all that water around the bowl or mop it up out of fear of the occurrence of that slip.
We suppose in an effort to get the day’s supply of water into us through the pores of our skin, Mom and Big Sis organised a splash pool for us. We, in all honesty, did not know what to make of it. The fun of water is when it runs, not when it is collected in a blue whale of a thing. So we did our best to knock down the sides and let it flow. But Mom had this crazy idea of using our water to water the plants later so that wasn’t allowed. Then we tried to empty the pool by jumping in and out, making loud splashes. We were gleeful until we saw why that didn’t bother Mom – the sides were too upright to let the water out. We would have made more tactical forays except there was a warning issued that bees around a beehive in the apartment complex were going crazy and Mom and Big Sis scooped us up and took us indoors.
That was the end of our summer pool day for now. We were left scratching our ears over two mysteries: what is the sweet thing that the Folks got from the bees? A drop slid on to the floor and we were quick to examine it. It seems a little of that yellow, sticky stuff is okay for us to have. And two, how did Mom know the exact amount of water to hose into the blue whale? Afterwards, she filled buckets from it and we led her from flower pot to flower pot waiting for her to run short or have an excess left as a punishment for not letting us flip flop the sides. But we could have saved ourselves the trouble. Water over, plants watered, blue whale clean – just like that.
So our summer madness goes on. It is spending an evening sniffing to glory for some hidden app in the blue whale (if phones can be smart, why can’t our blue whale?) that told Mom when to fill and when to stop … It is all of us looking mystified at one another at the squeak of a ball that none of us is holding, wondering whether to be scared of or excited by the resident ghost, and then (literally) stumbling upon the ball at the door swaying due to the light breeze of a summer day, lying just so to be pressed and released … It is chasing an ice cube all over the house until it comes into our jaws to be taken on to Big Sis’s towel for a good grip and slobbering all over it (the towel, we mean), and then hunting all over for a vanished cool cube ……😎