The Catbird Seat by Eilidh17
Category: Gen, kidfic, attempted humor
Warnings: none, well, Jack's thoughts maybe
Follows on from the story ISIS – see my bio
The Catbird Seat
Mikta! Remember her? Otherwise known as Isis the Queen of the feline world? I hate this cat and I dare anyone to jump up to her defense because, so help me, I'm going to pop them in the nose if they do.
Said feline is graciously patrolling the maple tree outside the living room window like she's been employed by a local security agency to protect her pint-sized archeologist from Catbirds. The birds don't stand a chance.
"Da?"
Uh-oh, Daniel has seen the standoff, toddled up to the sliding door and smacked his diaper-clad butt on the ground, custard coated hands splayed over the glass. Dang, and I just cleaned there!
"Oh! Tweeties!"
Tweeties, my ass! These little grey suckers have sat in this tree all summer long and done nothing but torment Miss Pain in the Mikta mercilessly. Not that she hasn't been a willing participant to the end of my lazy sleep-ins as she claws her way up the tree, hissing and spitting like a pro. 5am every darn morning they start this ritual, and by 5:10, Daniel is awake, ripping off his sodden diaper and tossing it to the floor. It's just his way of saying, "Get out of bed, Da! I'm awake!". I swear the kid is no better than his little grey goddess.
Anyway, I digress. Do that a lot lately. The Catbirds are doing their kitty call impersonations and Isis--her tail puffed up like a feather duster and eyes bulging to twice their normal size, is taking their attempt as a personal affront to her queenliness.
Queenliness? Go me! Is that a new word? I'll ask Carter later.
"Pay, Ja?"
"Huh?" So sue me. It's 6am and my Daniel-speak program is still in 'enjoying coffee' mode. Besides, it should be mandatory for kids to come with handy-dandy universal translators… or at least a copy of babel fish.
"Pay! Pay!"
It's too freaking early for this! "Pay? Pay for what, Daniel! Throw me a bone here!"
"Noooo!" Just for added affect, and because I'm sure the little imp knows I just cleaned those doors, Daniel artistically smears the remnants of his chocolate custard breakfast in large sweeping circles over the glass. "Pay!" he says waving towards his feline equivalent of the Predator who is sharpening her claws on the trunk of the maple tree, Catbird clearly on her dinner menu.
"Pay?" Oh! Ow! Hit by a clue bus. "Play? Are you nuts!"
"Tweeties!"
"The 'tweeties' can fend for themselves, it's Isis the Goa'uld cat that bothers me."
Uh-oh, bad Daddy. In one motion, Daniel's bottom lip curls into the pouting quiver of the century; his custard-encrusted hands flop to his side, and… uh-oh… Slap your hands to your ears, kids, because this tyke's cry could serve as a fog horn!
"DAAAAAAAAA! PAAAAAAYYY!"
Oh, and there they all go! The Catbirds have gone supersonic in their haste to get away, and Isis' entire coat of fur has puffed up like a pom-pom as she leaps about 5 feet in the air and exits stage left.
Great! No birds, no cat – insert healthy amount of wooting here – and I'm left picking up the pieces. Oh… come on! "Daniel! Not the diaper again!" Hate it when this kid protests.
The End.