They’ve moved dad into a geriatric rehab program that hopes to get him back able to manage a bit better on his own (the first cancer med he took really knocked him out and he’s been in and out of hospital since this all started about 2 months ago, lost a lot of weight and can barely walk) The physio and ortho regime is interesting to me, now just to see if he really tries with keeping up with the exercises and all. He could possibly be home for Christmas if he does…

TEXT:

Crack shrank as he fell, but the potato didn’t. He splashed down hard and tried to catch his breath as the shadow of the potato fell over him, a precursor to the actual thing. It teetered on one rounded edge, then started to fall. He threw himself sideways with help from a wave and spun around frantically, trying to spot the murderous lion. 

Evil called out from high up. “On the potat-“ when the shadow of another potato appeared above him and started to plummet. Murder honked angrily and veered them away. The second potato burst into fries with sharpened spear ends that knifed toward Crack with an angry buzzing. Crack conjured a bright coloured umbrella, reinforced it with his will, and huddled underneath, hoping it would hold. He winced as starchy javelins thudded into his make shift shield, and wondered why he hadn’t just conjured an actual shield. Why a primary coloured umbrella with cartoon shapes dancing around the edges? That rectangle was entirely too cheerful and Crack eyed it with distrust. What about his inner self screamed “toddler playtime” and not “dire freak-out time”? HIS umbrella should be foreboding, or at least off-putting, maybe jet black with a spike or two.

An angry feline hiss pulled him back to the present.

Crack spun to find Lionel lounging on the bigger potato. “I didn’t poison you pathetic plebeians. You are not worth my time, effort, or even my regard. I will, however, not forgive that you attempted to poison ME.” 

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