Cover of Where The Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak (source: Wikipedia, Fair Use)
I was seven when this book came out. I remember someone brought it for my brothers, who were four and five at the time. One line from the book stands out above all the others.
We have a cat named Max, and he enjoys causing trouble for the rest of the gang. We end up yelling at him and throwing things at him (paperbacks, mostly) which makes it stop, at least temporarily. It’s been worse since we lost Milton a few weeks ago. I think he’s lonely; he and Milton were best buddies. Anyway, when he gets started, we say the line from Where The Wild Things Are.
Max (center) about twelve years ago, with his sister Minnie (right, curled up beside him) and his buddy Milton (left)
He can be a little wild, but he’s also quite affectionate. He’s the only one who lets us scratch his belly.
Remember when people had “rumpus rooms”? I guess they’re called “family rooms” today, but they were basically a room (more often than not in the basement) where you would send the kids when they were getting a little wild, so they wouldn’t break anything. I tried to find pictures of rumpus rooms and instead found a restaurant in Milwaukee called The Rumpus Room. Looks like a nice place, but too many things would get broken if you treated it like an actual rumpus room. They’d probably ask you to leave.
Did you have a rumpus room when you were a kid? How about now? Have you ever read Where The Wild Things Are? What did you think?
from The Sound of One Hand Typing