Cherububble

Pickles

 

Pickles is my friend.  He is a black cat.

I love him very much but Mummy doesn’t like him and Daddy doesn’t like him, because Pickles like to sing.

 

He sings in the bath.  Well, not in the bath exactly. 

He sits on the edge of it when I am washing there.

Sometimes I sing with him.  Mummy calls out “softly dear!” 

Pickles sings louder.

 

He sings in the shed when daddy goes out to work with his tools.  Pickles and I go and help.  Pickles sits on the bench near Daddy. 

The hammer bangs.  The saw scritches. 

Pickles and I sing a little working song. 

Daddy calls out “softly dear!” and ‘doesn’t Mummy need you?”  Pickles sings louder.

 

He sings up a tree.  I climb up and sit beside him. 

He goes faster than me. 

I hold on to the branch and we sing a “being explorers” song. 

Old Mrs Cox next door calls out “softly dear!”

Pickles sings louder.

 

He sings in the cubby house.  He sits in a doll’s bed. 

I pour out the tea. 

Sometimes we have biscuits to eat. 

We sing songs about visiting and keeping house. 

My big sister calls out “softly dear!”, just like Mummy. 

Pickles sings louder.

 

When I grow up I’ll sing on the television. 

Pickles will too.  Pickles sings louder.

 

© Rosalind Cumming 2009