hacking a cat?
Conversation with youngest child this afternoon. We're watching Re: Your Brains. He's commenting on the swaying zombie dancer in the graveyard.
"Is she a zombie?"
"Yep. She is, in fact, a zombie."
"Oh, right." He peers at the laptop screen. "Because she's got that stuph on her knees."
Yes, ignore the skin tone and the skin stretched taut over bones, that is what gives zombies away--that stuph on their knees.
Then he says that the swaying zombie dancer looks more like a soul than a zombie. I ask why.
He says, because souls don't have bones. "They're, you know, sheety things, with no bones."
Ah.
"And they're invisible. No one can see them." He pauses and thinks. "Can cats see ghosts?"
Yes, I tell him.
"Okay, then we gotta hack into them and see what they see." Therein follows about five minutes of him explaining--between gestures and words--what hacking a cat would be like, and I can't type that out, I was giggling too hard.
Then his dad came and off he went for the weekend.
You know, sometimes? Kids are really, really funny.
"Is she a zombie?"
"Yep. She is, in fact, a zombie."
"Oh, right." He peers at the laptop screen. "Because she's got that stuph on her knees."
Yes, ignore the skin tone and the skin stretched taut over bones, that is what gives zombies away--that stuph on their knees.
Then he says that the swaying zombie dancer looks more like a soul than a zombie. I ask why.
He says, because souls don't have bones. "They're, you know, sheety things, with no bones."
Ah.
"And they're invisible. No one can see them." He pauses and thinks. "Can cats see ghosts?"
Yes, I tell him.
"Okay, then we gotta hack into them and see what they see." Therein follows about five minutes of him explaining--between gestures and words--what hacking a cat would be like, and I can't type that out, I was giggling too hard.
Then his dad came and off he went for the weekend.
You know, sometimes? Kids are really, really funny.