Baby B and YLS sit down so that Baby B can teach Sr. how to play chess. And by that, we mean Baby B creates the rules as he goes along, with the only static rule being “Baby B always wins.”
Baby B extended the invitation to me some weeks ago, but I was working on job application #5 then, and am working on application #479 now, with Real Beards (sorry, Porsha) of Atlanta playing in the background. Marley Jackson is curled up comfortably on the ottoman, head to tail, natch, because his nemesis is running around in the backyard, allowing the cold air to whip between her whiskers while she searches for day old poo (her own) that she can snack on, while wishing it belonged to the cats.
Baby B sets the board up beautifully. He has learned how to play (read: win, illicitly) chess in latchkey, after all. His father is amused, and impressed by the fact that his motormouthed blur of energy had the discipline to sit down and learn a game like . Let the games begin. Within 20 seconds, they are semi-playfully insulting each other because Baby B has informed YLS that he has decided that they will play by a special set of rules. Marley stretches, both his legs and his mouth, before recoiling again, making it obvious to everyone that someone really should order him more chicken-flavored toothpaste as his catlitosis breezes through the room.
Or perhaps Aimee has simply returned from her poo binge, wearing the scent of her hunting expedition.
She promptly runs down the stairs, tail wagging, unfazed by Marley’s pre-emptive hissing. She tramples the chessboard before circling back, snatching a couple pawns and a bishop in her mouth and taking her captives to her crate. Game over.
Baby B screams. Had he not been interrupted, he would have surely won.