African Cats

I love going to movie theaters, but WCK insists that all movies are “scary.” The only movies she’ll agree to see in movie theaters are nature documentaries. When I saw that Disney had released a documentary called “African Cats”, I knew this might be my only chance this year to actually see the inside of a theater and eat some popcorn. On the Monday of Easter break, I threw WCK in the car, and we went.

Now, because it was a Disney movie and rated G, I expected that it would be cute, lighthearted movie about baby lions frolicking happily on the African savanna. No. “African Cats” was the SCARIEST MOVIE EVER.

Two of the adorable baby cheetahs were eaten by hyenas. The mother lion was kicked by a zebra and died. An evil rival lion pride kept terrorizing the “good” lion pride, and the narrator implied that the evil rival lions intended to kill off all of the adorable baby lions.

Of course, WCK, who is too scared to watch “The Tinkerbell Movie”, didn’t find “African Cats” scary at all. Because this is the way my child is.

Ever since we got home from the movie, we have had to spend a lot of time acting out “African Cats”. Usually, I am stuck being the zebra or wildebeest while WCK gets to be the lion or cheetah. I crawl cluelessly around my bedroom, pretending to eat grass, while WCK stalks me from the end of the hallway. Then she crawls down the hallway at lightning speed, pounces, eats me, and crawls away.

Other times, we are both lions from rival prides. We both crawl to the center of the hallway and yell at each other. “You stay away from my pride!!!” “No, YOU stay away from MY pride!!” “Well, my pride has 10 cute baby lions!” “Well, MY pride has ONE MILLION CUTE BABY LIONS!!!” If we’re lucky, Garland will wander by and play the part of the actual pride.

After we yelled at each other yesterday, we decided to team up and go hunting for some prey together. We were able to scrape up a sock monkey and a stuffed triceratops for our dinner. We also found some baby dolls, but WCK decided we should not eat the human babies. We should dress them up in cute clothes, put them in strollers, and walk them around Africa. Then we should get distracted and start playing with Barbies.

Our dramatic interpretation of “African Cats” often does not follow the movie very closely.

Call me a terrible mother, but I’m extremely grateful that the weather is nice today and we can go to the park after school instead of playing another round of “African Cats.” The zebra is worn out.