Tag Archives: Oscar/Dennis

City of angels (loogies included)

Signs posted on pariah rooms mean people have to dress in swaddling clothes to enter. Unless you're a pariah who lives there, that is.

By Laura Grimes

To Everyone Who Isn’t Oscar/Dennis:

My son is a champ.

The big, strapping lad was reduced to a wuss, a weakling no match for a kitten. He was so scary sick that he landed in the hospital.

To that, all I got to say is my kid is one tough cookie and the best possible patient. I am so glad I get to write that. I am cautiously optimistic that he’s on the upswing.

Faithful readers might remember this recent post about Oscar/Dennis’s unadventure to the doctor’s office and Mrs. Scatter’s advocating for home visits by doctors. His visit was unfortunately long and bitterly hard on him, and compromised his already weak system. If medical care is meant to serve the patients, the doctor-centric geographic design isn’t always a good one.

Oscar/Dennis neatly solved that. Now that he’s in the hospital, it’s all about him. Everyone and everything come to him.


Hospitals are amazing little cities. No car required. No need to go anywhere (though, if it becomes necessary, the taxi service costs a bundle). They have excellent accommodations with 24/7 room service, valets, bathrooms and showers, state-of-the-art equipment, gift shopping, a florist and security services.

Continue reading City of angels (loogies included)

Is there a doctor in the house?

I'd rather be home any day than in this germy place./Wikimedia Commons

By Laura Grimes

It’s time to re-institute home visits by doctors.

I want to hear the doorbell ring and see the black bag. With a sweep of my motherly arm I would graciously show the caring soul to the outdated plaid couch, where Oscar/Dennis would be slouched back in a daze, his slumber roused by the sound of the bell. Oscar/Dennis would flicker open his eyes a slit but he wouldn’t move. His gray hoodie that hadn’t been changed for a few days would be pulled up over his ears, and the red fuzzy blanket would be flung over his long body that stretches from one sofa arm to the other. A couple of pillows would prop up his head. The white She Cat would be curled up on his legs in a lowercase e.

Even though it would be noon, the room would be dark. The blinds would not have been pulled, but there would be a small welcoming fire. A tall water bottle, a couple of untouched Ritz crackers and a tub with a half-inch of vomit would be on the coffee table.

Continue reading Is there a doctor in the house?

Thankless holiday sets off an alarm

We might have to fall back on this because we're resorting to Plan B and planning our Thanksgiving meal at the last minute./Wikimedia CommonsBy Laura Grimes

Here at Art Scatter World Headquarters we are counting down to the day of the Grand Unsealing of the Pickles* by telling all our embarrassing and disastrous tales of Thanksgivings past.

For some reason, giant black clouds hover over us this time every year, though we always manage to have a wonderful holiday.

This year, we had planned to drive to the Olympic Peninsula to spend several days with relatives, but our trip was canceled when 6 to 12 inches of snow dumped there and roads turned treacherous,** Felix/Martha came down with a nasty cold (which isn’t like him), and the half-wild She Cat, who usually disappears for days and eats god knows what, badly injured her front paw and is camped out on a fluffy blanket on the couch.

This morning, the He Cat made barfing sounds on the dining room rug. I grabbed him around the middle (not so good) and was juggling him (also not good) while unlocking the front door, when his whole body convulsed and a wet hairball flew out of his mouth and landed on the rug near my feet.

Thank you, Thanksgiving.

Continue reading Thankless holiday sets off an alarm

Large Smelly Reader on the loose

By Laura Grimes

Dante Alighieri, "The Divine Comedy"Sort of like “borrowing” the car keys without asking, the Large Large Smelly Boy took a spin in the adult library recently without saying where he was going. It was the night before a long weekend free from school, and he was obviously looking for new reading material. But I didn’t know this yet. As I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner, his voice mysteriously hollered from the library without warning. (I told you Oscar/Dennis was a walking screenplay.)

“What’s The Divine Comedy about?”

Not sure where his voice was coming from, I hollered back. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s by someone named ‘Dante.’ ”

“Oh, that Divine Comedy.”

Mr. Scatter spoke up. “Just so you know, he’s from the 14th century.”

Oscar/Dennis quickly answered, “Just so you know, I’m putting it back.”

It was quiet for a few moments and then his voice popped up again.

“What’s ‘Coleridge’ about? It looks interesting.”

I was careful not to discourage him. “What looks interesting about it?”

“It says ‘Viking Portable Library.’ “

The Oscar goes to Large Smelly Boy!

Briefly, the stories I could tell .../Wikimedia Commons

By Laura Grimes

Dear Mr. Scatter,

Thank you for cleaning the little black skillet before bailing again. It is duly noted that you mentioned it before you left and again on the phone. Please note that I have performed my wifely duty by appreciating it out loud. Now if you could just solve the little matter of getting the man-children to stop eating and requiring fried eggs, we could keep the little black skillet clean and our marriage contract would not be necessary.

No. Wait. That’s not what I meant.


The jig is up with the Large Large Smelly Boy. We’ve been found out. Even though he hasn’t deigned to read the blog for months or have any technological connection with me besides texting when he needs a ride, he was looking at my computer screen while I was logged on to the blog, and he wanted to know about a recent comment in a post. I think his question went something like, “What was that about Nancy Farmer? Deliciously disturbed? Leather lampshades? What’s that all about?”

I said, “It’s in a blog entry. You can read it. Here.” And I clicked. Then I turned away and started to leave. I paused. “Sorry I’m sending you to Greenland.”

Continue reading The Oscar goes to Large Smelly Boy!