Goodbye, Indian. Hello, white stuff.

My darling Miss Maggie,

Have you ever noticed that one of the most flabbergasting things about humans is that when they leave a place, they immediately become sentimental about the things they think they’re going to be missing?

For example: the other day my parents had a sentimental mood over Khana Khazana, the Indian takeaway restaurant in Brooklyn. Granted, they quite possibly make the best curries in the whole region (forget about Tulsi, they are soooo below par and have been ever since they won that award), but during a whopping nine years in Wellington how many times have they actually been there? Fifteen? Twenty, maybe? And most of those times concentrated in the second “living in Brooklyn” timespan of about a year.

Khana Khazana in Brooklyn is the undisputed number 1 Indian restaurant/takeaway in Wellington.

Khana Khazana in Brooklyn is the undisputed number 1 Indian restaurant/takeaway in Wellington.

What I’m trying to say, Maggie-dear-dear, is that I don’t understand why humans spend so much time reminiscing what they had when they had it, instead of enjoying what they have while they have it.

Bah. Not me. I used to be nostalgic, back in the good old days, but not anymore.

Take the washing line pole I used to have back in Wellington, for example. Hours and hours were spent sitting on top of that thing, overseeing my territory, making sure that nasty *%# tomcat from down the street stayed away.

My pole in Wellington. Why did Fitz sit on a pole? c-o-n-t-r-o-l.

My pole in Wellington. Why did Fitz sit on a pole? c-o-n-t-r-o-l.

Instead, I welcome and enjoy the new things in my life, such as that wonderfully weird and wet white stuff that fell out of the sky about two weeks ago. Whatever it was, it was awesome to play around in. I kid you not, Maggie-sweet-bum, you could walk around in thus stuff, and then when you looked over your shoulder you could see where you had walked!

How did they know it was me?

How did they know it was me?

It covered everything, from the poo I did earlier to my new favourite tree trunk in the corner of the garden. Everything white.

True, it's not a washing line pole. It's BIGGER!!!111!! After all, size matters.

True, it’s not a washing line pole. It’s BIGGER!!!111!! After all, size matters.

And you know what? It made it a lot easier to hunt the birds as well. I just sat in my secret hideout and counted the footsteps that the birds made in this white, warm, insulating blanket of fluffyness.

Me in my hideout. The bird tracks are easily observed from here, me myself not so much. Can you see me in this picture? Hint: I'm roughly in the middle.

Me in my hideout. The bird tracks are easily observed from here, me myself not so much. Can you see me in this picture? Hint: I’m roughly in the middle.

snow4

I’m almost sure this is where I did a poo earlier, but how to tell?

Later I overheard that this white stuff falls out of the skies several times a year over here, so just imagine all the fun I’ll have. The only thing I could possibly wish for would be you being here as well, so we could hide in my secret hideout together. Don’t worry: I’d keep you warm :)

This morning, my dad kept throwing a tennis ball around the garden which I then chased. It was fun, but really wore me out. So I’ll go have a big sleep now, during which I will – naturellement – dream of you.

Give Aunty Robyn a huge cuddle from me, take care and ’till next time.

Yours,

Fitz
XXX

snow1 snow2 snow3

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