The Appropriation of the Koshka

When I joined my family, it was after forming a friendship with my sister Kali over a period of four years and being there after other people had disappeared after Dozer was born. Teenagers are assholes and they do that when one of their friends has a kid.

Koshka, on the other hand, joined the family because he crossed the threshold behind me. It was a little after midterms last quarter, and I had seen my family a grand total of once, when Chucky was born. I decided that in spite of it being a Sunday, I needed to see them. I decided it was high time I introduce them to Koshka, who is generally overworked and who usually doesn’t even leave his tie off on the weekends.

“Koshka, I’m kidnapping you and taking you over to my sister’s.”

“Nope.”

“Yes. Get in the car, I’m friends with your mom.”

“Fine…”

“Also, if anyone asks you, the password is ‘boobs.'”

We rolled up to Kali’s house a little after dinner (Koschka guested me into the school dining hall and we ate flavorless, over-processed food. COLLEGE.)

The boys were off in their room playing Beyblades. The baby was occupied with either pooping, eating, crying, or some combination of all three. The Dork-In-Law was on the computer killing pixelated monsters and holding the baby. My sister was talking to Gramma on the phone and shooing the dyfunctional cat away from the garbage.

Everyone dropped all of this to crowd into the doorway to say hi and get a look at Koshka.

Kali: “Oh, he’s cute!”

Boys: “POD!”

Me: “BOYS!”

The Dork-In-Law said “hi” and went back to killing things. The baby got passed off to Kali, who passed it off to me while she got Gramma on Skype and took Koshka by the elbow to introduce him via the Interwebs to her mother, who immediately said,

“Pod, you should have babies with this one!”

“Um.”

“What, he’s cute, and you’re the only one of my girls who hasn’t given me a grand-baby yet!”

“You know, we’re both in school, he’s gay, and I’m pretty sure that we’re both waiting to find husbands before we have kids.”

The boys took over Gramma, Kali ushered Koshka into a chair, and I handed him the Squidge.”Here, hold this; I need a cup of coffee.”

“Uh.”

“If you jiggle her and make little noises at her, she’ll relax.”

The dysfunctional cat took a perch on Koshka’s free knee and I paparazzi’d everyone for about five minutes while my sister and I shared our gripes of the week. The squidge fell asleep and drooled on Koshka’s sweater.

“Koshka, you make my ovaries hurt.”

“See, Pod? I’m tellin’ you, have babies with this one! You can use a turkey baster–”

“God dammit, Kali.”

Through all of this, Koshka is laughing and shaking his head. At any given time, there’s at least six women who are willing to be the surrogate mother of any hypothetical child he would sire. I’m not sure if my sister embarassed him or not (although I was a little mortified) but he was a great sport.

“So…that’s my crazy family,” I stated, starting the car.

“I fucking love your crazy family.”

“That’s good, because you’re not getting away from them. You’ve been claimed.”

Something tells me he’s ok with this.

 

 

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One thought on “The Appropriation of the Koshka

  1. […] When I brought him upstairs, his reception was a little like the way everyone greeted Koshka: […]

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