Wind
We've had the snow, we've had the rain, and now we have the wind.
Wind speed is expected to be in excess of 70 mph tonight so looks like some trees might well breathe their last. After the storm of 1987, 15 million trees were lost (or something like that). That, of course, was the storm that was not meant to be:
"A woman rang the BBC today asking if there was a hurricane on the way. I can say that there is not" Michael Fish, BBC weatherman (and clearly not a very good one as a few hours later the hurricane arrived). Those winds were a tad more powerful than those expected tonight, with those reaching 94 mph over London,
I remember watching the fence take off, and then our tree falling down. I shared a room with my sister, and my bed was along the wall under the window. I was terrified, and ended up having to get into bed with her. We had no school that day as most of the roof tiles were decorating the playground. Driving home we could see just how much damage had been done. Several roads were blocked by fallen trees and most houses had some roof damage.
Most sad of all, our pet hedgehog, Spikey, didn't survive the falling of the tree. The dog missed him - he used to carry him in his mouth around the garden. He did often come in with spikes stuck in his face, but they did seem to like each other.
Anyhoo.............
The kitties are hiding in their respective hiding places:
Harvey - my feet (so not really that well hidden!);
Frankie - his bed;
Ellie - my bed, hidden in the quilt;
as they don't seem to like the howling noise. However, Harvey is snoring so I don't think he is overly upset by it. Not much fazes him, with the large and blonde exception of the Boy. I don't always blame him, as the Boy can be a bit rough with him. The Boy is used to playing with a rottweiler, so I can see why Harvey gets a little upset with some of his games.
Harvey has so far sworn, spat, hissed and bitten the Boy. Despite this, the Boy still adores him. Quite often, I can catch him chatting away to him about his day. Admittedly, Harvey is backed into a corner and swishing his tail rudely, but the Boy doesn't see that, because he doesn't understand that his unpredicatability can be frightening to a cat. Very cute to watch, especially when Harvey miaows back. I know he is saying "Get him away from me, you stupid woman!", but the Boy thinks that Harvey is answering him back, and the look on his face is just a pure joy.
I gave the cats their flea treatment today. Frankie was resigned and Ellie was wriggly, but both were treated with minimal bloodshed. They are good cats.
Harvey has also spat, sworn, hissed and bitten me today. The treatment didn't go down too well with him. As soon as he saw the vial coming out of the cupboard he went on the offensive. His favourite vantage point for an attack is on top of the heating unit. So up he scrambled (knocking down keys, paperwork and money in the process) and sat eyeing me very warily.
We've done this before. Harvey isn't fooled by the offer of cat treats, or fresh chicken. He scorns these. Up comes the paw, claws extended menacingly, to block access to the scruff of his neck. The look on his face tells me that blood loss is inevitable if I get any closer.
Time for a new tactic. I pretend that I am going to put it on his tummy instead (that wonderful white, fluffy tummy that no-one is ever allowed to touch). He immediately tries to bite my hand, and that gives me the chance to push his head down and squirt the contents of the vial onto his neck. Cue the agonised screaming and obscene swearing that can, and has, made grown men wince.
I knew that I wasn't going to get away intact from this encounter. At some point, I would have to let him go and face the consequences of my assault. I took a deep breath, steadied myself for the pain of torn flesh, and let go.
Immediately, the claws are tearing at the hand that committed the offence. Blood rushes to the surface with a bubbling intensity, and starts to form little beads that resemble little rubies. I go to push him off the unit and as I do he bites my hand, swears again and leaps gracefully across the room to land on the sofa.
He glares at me, the evil intent gleaming in his large green eyes. The message is clear - get any closer and it won't just be a scratch. I heed his warning and leave him to groom himself back to contentment.
He seems to have managed that quite well, as we just had a lovely cuddle. Lovely cuddles do involve my chest being torn to ribbons, as even in pleasure he uses his claws with intent, but the intensity of his purrs make the pain and the bloodloss worthwhile. Even that caused by his strops.
An unappealing mixture of blood and cat drool is coating my chest, with more than the odd cat hair adhering to the gunge. Cat lovers will understand why this doesn't bother me, but in the interests of hygiene, I am off for a shower.
posted by DMouse007 @ 1/31/2004 05:28:00 PM
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