Violence in the very young.

My poor little siblings.
Yesterday, unable to resist the pull of the sunny outdoors, Ava, Milo, Bracie and I skipped out for a picnic in our back yard. Blithely, we lunched under a blossoming cherry tree, listened to the bees buzz, and lazed around until Ava, the dear, proposed we play a game of "cat and bird."

"Cat and bird," is one of those wonderfully rousing amusements in which two persons crawl about on the ground, mewling and altogether impersonating a cat, and two other persons skip around, flapping their "wings," not tied to mere earth, but "soaring" heavenward. Or something to that effect. The correct formula for the conflict of the game is this:

cat eats bird

For it is the solemn duty of the "cat" to chase the said "bird" until they make the catch.

Resuming:

Though not naturally inclined to forsake our lounge on picnic blanket, Bracie and I obligingly got up and performed the office of "cat." Fulfilling the solemn duty of big sisters, we waited the proper amount of time to let the "bird" evade us. However, all good things must come to an end, and the time for us to catch the "bird" had come. Stalking the "bird" with refined, agile feline elegance, we slunk closer and closer to our prey, our dear little Ava-bird.

We had her cornered, we jumped, we sprang, we completely took out the bird. Ava wriggling out from our clutches, ran away with, it must be said, a scowl.

She turned to us, the picture of defiance, and triumphantly declared.

"Oh yeah? I am a bird with multiple lasers taped to my wings! And I am in a bubble shield so you CAN'T GET ME!" She pointed her "wings" toward us, the helpless kitties. "KABLAM! KAPOW! hahahahahah! I got you both."

Stunned, Bracie and flopped on the grass and awaited Ava's next move. She marched over to us and told she was finished playing "cat and bird."

"How about we play "duck and wolf?"she asked. "I'll be the duck."

NOTE: For the knowledge of the readers, wolf and duck is nearly identical to cat and bird.

Despite the risk of being blown up or fried with a laser or blasted in smithereens, Bracie and I agreed to play. Before the game, I asked Milo, who was sitting on top of me, if he would like to join. Because the poor little boy looked a little confused, I decided to enlighten him.

"I'll be the wolf, and you be the duck, and I chase you and eat you." Something in his expression told me that my youngest brother was not quite satisfied with these terms.

Disgruntled, he replied, "No. YOU be duck, and I shoot you."