The Brat is on the bed and I jump on him and smell the still baby smell of Johnson’s powder.
Mmm…. I breathe it in.
Mock offended at this invasion of personal space he turns around, places two pink lips on my cheek and blows a rude raspberry… ‘pprrrfffft’
The Bean sees action that cannot be missed and jumps on to the bed (wagon), rubs a soft little cheek against my back and in her favourite animal of the month mood goes ‘miaow’.
I turn around and scare the kitten away with a sharp bark… ‘woof’
The Brat to the rescue of baby kitten sister frames his face with his hands and roars like a lion…
I fall back, terrified and sobbing.
The two little animals are repentant and immediately clamber all over me in a huddle, the Brat holding my chin, the Bean stroking my hair. We cuddle into the pillows, a satisfied grunt here, a sigh of contentment there…
And so we’ve had mama and baby communication in words found in no dictionary. In a language that is just ours. What is that old one? Oh yes, love needs no words.