Grandma Loses Dreadlocks
Everybody has a secret.
Grandma Meow Moses is no exception.
Although she is often pictured on my website wearing pearl necklaces and carrying clutch purses that always match her hats, she has another side.
A wild one.
She adores Bob Marley.
Well, who doesn't?
So much so that when she moved in with us two years ago she was beginning to sprout some dreadlocks.
I thought it was just a couple snarls in her long flowing hair.
But then she asked me not to brush them.
Matter of fact she would snap at me if I even came near them.
I let her be.
To each their own I say.
She is after all, very old. And she does live all alone in her assisted living apartment on the other side of our basement steps, since she and Tuna the teenage punk do not see eye to eye on anything.
And what difference does it make if she is down there jamming away?
As long as she does not keep everyone up all night with her music blaring and she does not burn the place down.
But those dread locks of hers kept on growing and they began to be out of control.
She could hardly get her pearls over them and was having a hell of a time tucking them inside her church bonnets.
That is why it was time for a heart to heart.
"Grandma," I said, "You can always grow them back."
And then she gave me that look that always scares me.
"I am going to set up an appointment for you," I told her.
"Suit yourself," she said. And then she flipped her vinyl over and I heard, Every little thing is gonna be alright, as I pulled some towels out of the dryer.
A few days later Angelique showed up with a brand new clippers and a pretty purple necklace for Grandma. It was filled with lavender, Grandma's favorite scent after ganja.
The long haired client sat poised as I held onto her by the scruff while her very own stylist buzzed a new hair doo down her back, right there in her fancy assisted living apartment.
Grandma Meow Moses announced that she came from royalty the day she arrived here in the black hole just outside of Harmony Grove, and then about fainted when she realized it was not a castle and that she was expected to carry her own suitcase inside.
But when push comes to shove that little old feline, the same one who knows how to drop the F bomb, can pour on manners like she really did grow up in Buckingham Palace. Other than her dreadlocks she has always reminded me of Queen Elizabeth.
"What's that Louisa?"
Hold on, my sister is saying something.
Louisa wants to know if the queen tipped Angelique like a normal person or a like senior citizen.
"She couldn't find her coin purse."
Anyway, Grandma has been waltzing around the house like a princess with all that weight gone. That is, when she is not tucked away in her heated bed, toasting her buns.
She was taking a sip out of her bowl of milk when my sweet Sven saw her hair cut.
"You are looking kind of rough there, Grandma," he said.
It is just lucky for both of them that that cat is hard of hearing.