The Queen Teen’s New Boyfriend (And His Provisional Clearance)
We need to discuss the Queen Teen’s new boyfriend.
Felix has already carried out his own investigation, which mostly involved landing on the poor lad’s plums and later getting his head trapped inside one of his trainers.
So naturally, I decided the household needed someone competent to assess him.
Me!
Now, I’ll admit, the boy started well.
Very well.
The first time he came over, he brought Churu Bites for me.
Not flowers for Mum
Not something for Dad
Cat treats for yours truly Willow 😼
Young man, you have understood the assignment.
I gave him a sniff, accepted his offering and immediately upgraded him from unknown teenage male to potentially useful.
I’m not saying my approval can be bought.
I’m saying he identified the correct currency.
The Queen Teen looked at me and said, “You like him, don’t you?”
Steady on, I’ve accepted chicken flavoured goods.
We’re not exchanging Christmas cards yet.
But I do actually quite like him.
He’s gentle with me, doesn’t grab at me, understands that when I approach him I’m requesting a fuss and, most importantly, appears to understand that my Queen Teen is very precious cargo.
That last bit matters!
Because that girl has been mine since she was eight.
He’s been here five minutes.
There is a probationary period.
So whenever he comes round, I keep an eye on them.
Constantly!
Not obviously, of course.
I’m subtle 😼
I’ll sit on the other end of the sofa pretending to wash myself while listening to every word.
Teen: “What do you want to watch?”
Boyfriend: “I don’t mind”
Teen: “Neither do I”
Wonderful, two people with access to thousands of films and apparently not a single opinion between them.
Twenty minutes later they’re still scrolling.
I could’ve hunted dinner in that time!
Then there’s the conversation.
Honestly, teenage romance is fascinating.
“Do you think this picture is nice?”
“Yeah”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah”
“You didn’t even look”
“I did!”
“You looked for half a second”
And suddenly I’m watching a hostage negotiation over a selfie.
Sometimes they’ll sit whispering to each other.
Immediately suspicious so I move closer.
They whisper quieter, I move closer again.
Eventually my head is practically between theirs.
The Teen goes, “Willow, do you mind?”
Yes, that’s why I’m here.
I’ve also noticed the boyfriend has started learning the household rules.
Rule one: greet the cat
Rule two: bring snacks whenever possible
Rule three: if Willow is sitting in your seat, congratulations, you now have a different seat.
Rule four: Felix will inspect your belongings, don’t encourage him, he already thinks he’s employed!
Rule five: whatever happens, do not stop stroking me because your arm is “going numb”
That sounds very much like a you problem.
The other evening they were sitting together and he put his arm around her.
I stared at the arm.
He noticed me staring.
He looked at the Teen.
“Why is Willow looking at me like that?”
The Teen didn’t even glance up: “She does that.”
No, sweetheart. I catalogue weaknesses.
He slowly removed his arm.
Good lad—learning beautifully.
Then yesterday I caught them holding hands.
I sat directly in front of them and stared.
The boyfriend laughed, “Am I allowed?”
I looked at him, looked at their hands.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Churu Boy!
You have provisional clearance.
Besides, I don’t need to interfere like Felix does.
Felix sees them cuddle and immediately wedges sixteen pounds of tuxedo between them like a furry chastity belt.
Amateur!
I simply remain nearby.
Watching.
Listening.
Judging.
Occasionally appearing from places neither of them realised contained a cat.
You’d be amazed how quickly teenagers behave themselves when two green eyes suddenly appear from underneath a chair.
And to be fair to the lad, he’s taking it all very well.
He survived Felix’s accidental attack on the family jewels.
He survived discovering Felix wearing his trainer.
He’s met Dad!!!
And he’s still coming back.
That’s either commitment or a complete absence of survival instinct.
Either way, I respect it.
More importantly, my Queen Teen smiles when he’s around.
A proper smile, and I notice things like that.
I’ve watched that little girl grow from the gentle eight year old who sat quietly with a frightened former barn cat and never once rushed me, into the young woman she is now.
So yes, I’m protective.
Of course I am.
She was patient with me when I was scared of the world.
Now I keep an eye on her while she goes out into it.
And if this boy is going to be part of that world for however long, then all I ask is that he makes her laugh, treats her kindly and remembers the occasional packet of Churu Bites.
So far?
He’s doing alright—don’t tell him I said that.
The boy doesn’t need confidence, and I’ll continue supervising their relationship from approximately three feet away.
Not because I don’t trust them.
Because somebody in this house needs to maintain standards, and Felix currently has his head in another shoe .😼
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