A Room with a View
• 2 • 299
From my window in the nursing home, the view is quite the spectacle. Picture this: a lush green lawn, perfect for a bit of a wander if one’s legs still fancied cooperating, and then there's the local entertainment—kangaroos. Yes, kangaroos! Not your everyday street performers, mind you, but the real deal, hopping about with an air of casual indifference.
Every morning, like clockwork, they make their grand entrance. These marsupials, with their oversized feet and curious faces, bounce up to my window, probably wondering what this old chap is staring at. If they had newspapers, they'd likely be reading them while having a nibble on the grass. It’s a bit like living next to a kangaroo cafe, only without the overpriced lattes.
The grass, a verdant green that would make any golfer weep with joy, is apparently the finest kangaroo cuisine in the area. They munch away, blissfully unaware of my presence. I could be doing the macarena right here, and they wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Not that I remember how to do the macarena, but that’s beside the point. One particularly cheeky kangaroo—I’ve named him Bruce—likes to press his nose against the glass, probably trying to figure out if I’m part of the exhibit or just a curious observer. Sometimes, I press my nose back against the window, and we have a bit of a standoff. Bruce always wins. I suspect he finds me quite entertaining, in an ‘Oh look, it’s the funny human again’ sort of way.
These daily visits have become a highlight of my stay here. Who needs TV when you have kangaroos? It’s like my very own wildlife documentary, live from the comfort of my chair. The only thing missing is David Attenborough narrating the scene. If only he’d pop by for a cuppa.