Balloon Pet

#balloons #pets #balloon

Years ago, Mom had a pet balloon. I gave it to her for Mother’s Day. It was a shiny, silver, mylar balloon with a big pink rose on it.

One afternoon, I stopped by Mom and John’s apartment at afternoon tea time. I sat at their round dining table, ate a cookie, and drank my Earl Gray.

“Hey darlin’, have you seen Rosie today?” John scanned the living room.

Mom called out from the kitchen, “Not since this morning.”

“I wonder what she’s up to?” John sipped his tea. “Where is she?”

I asked, “Who is Rosie? Never heard you talk about anyone named Rosie.”

John grinned, “It’s our pet.”

“Pet? You have a pet?” I scanned the floor and under the table.

Mom carried her coffee cup into the dining room and sat in the chair next to me. “Yes, honey. The one you gave me for Mother’s Day.”

My cookie was suspended before my lips, “I did not.”

“You gave me a balloon. We call her Rosie. Everyday we wake up and we never know where we’ll find her. Sometimes she’s in the kitchen, sometimes in the laundry room, we even found her on John’s recliner one morning. It’s lots of fun to see where she travels at night.” Mom smiled.

John nodded, “M hm, and Rosie doesn’t need to be fed, or cleaned up after, and never makes a sound. She’s a perfect pet for us older folks and apartment dwellers.”

Rosie floated gracefully past us on the air conditioner’s breeze, her ribbon tail skimmed the carpet. She headed into John’s office and landed on John’s chair.

“See what we mean?” Mom and John chuckled.

“I do. Never underestimate the entertainment factor of a balloon.”