Atty and the Boy

A good boy he is, this boy of mine, a good boy he is indeed.

He runs, he plays, he enjoys time with his friends, and always ready for adventure. He hops, he skips, he falls and scrapes his knees.

Having fallen down, he picks himself up, dusts himself off, and on he goes - cheery as can be.

So full of life, full of adventure, and always with his best friend beside him.

A little sloth - plush and cuddly: protects him even while he sleeps.

Atty is the name! Adventure is the game.

So many wild rides, Atty and my boy get on. Always a quest, always a plot or a plan: always the little adventure man.

Atty the sidekick, ready to spring into action - as long as he is dragged along for the ride.

A sport they played the other day - a caper of high stakes. Atty at the lookout. The boy on the prowl. I, mum, the mark. A plate of a dozen warm biscuits, the score.

The plate set on the counter to cool, I turn to clean up, I turn back... Eleven biscuits left. Atty left beside the plate to run interference.

"Who's been in my biscuits" I huff with my hands on my hips. Atty, the silent conspirator, with lips sealed in a knowing smile, stays silent to protect his accomplice. A little laugh floats over from the other side of the table.

"Aha! I caught you." I triumph, after creeping around the table. A chase ensues!

"Atty, she caught us!" And off her runs, grabbing his partner in crime as I pursue.

He screams and laughs as I chase. I gain on him and scoop him up. He holds Atty tightly as I arrest him to my chest. The biscuit safely hidden between the two biscuit bandits.

"You steal my biscuit, huh? Now you must pay." A tickle tax is seized.

He screams, and laughs, and kicks, and wriggles - Atty, ever the loyal sidekick, conceals the prize.

"Okay, okay..." The boy concedes.

"Where's my biscuit?" I interrogate. Reluctantly, and with heavy breath, he pulls the now broken biscuit from between Atty and his chest.

"It's broken! You broke my biscuit. You'll have to pay extra for it now." His eyes go wide, expecting another tickle tax.

"Let's see... How much are my biscuits worth? I think five kisses. No, ten. Five for stealing it, and five for breaking it." I say, and he relaxes, knowing he won't be tickled again.

"Five on this cheek..." I poke my finger to my right cheek, and I get five kisses there. "... and five on this cheek." Five kisses follow on the left.

I set him down, and the biscuit bandits run off together with their spoils.

Another successful adventure.