Grampa

I don't really remember Granny Ethel, except that at one point she was alive and at another, Grampa lived alone. There must have been a funeral and such, but either I wasn't invited or it's all blurred into insignificance.

Most of my memories of Grampa come in drips and draps, but what I do remember clearly is that whenever we visited him out in the colonies, Grampa always served us kids lime cordial and soda water from an old glass siphon as a special treat. It tasted terribly bitter but it made us feel very privileged to be waited upon like that, so we always drank it all up. I don't recall if we were ever allowed to operate the trigger on the siphon ourselves, but somehow I doubt it.

Grampa had red hair, combed back from his forehead - which, now I come to think of it, is how I wear mine, including the ever-increasing bald patch, but so far free of liver spots. I think I have Grampa to thank for my little-remaining-hair-not-turning-grey genes.

Of course the one, truly lasting memory was of the fucking enormous tigerskin rug sprawled across the floorboards in his living room. It had a fearsome snarl permanently frozen on its face, and its staring glass eyes had us absolutely terrified. Grampa would smile and pat it on the head reassuringly, but I was too scared of those long, sharp teeth.

If there were any bullet holes in it, you'd think I'd remember that, right? Nope. I guess he must have strangled it to death with his bare hands then. Grampas are awesome like that.

I'm reminded of Grampa every time I look at my mouse mat, for some reason.