Hard work
The loft has been cleared and is now devoid of crap.
I have emptied, repacked and moved boxes all morning. Then I have shifted the items for rubbish to the Baron's car. And the items for charity to my car.
The Baron is working late, and forgot to tell me in advance. So his lovingly prepared dinner is slowly going cold on the side. And is also being nibbled at by a little girl cat who likes spicy tastes. I won't tell if you don't tell.
The boy cats are all sleeping. Busy day for them. Harvey has led me a merry dance around the neighbourhood trying to bring him in, Frankie jumped on my poorly made computer desk and shattered it, and Charlie has developed an antipathy to the litter tray requiring repeated floor cleanings.
This all between shifting boxes (on my own, of course).
So today I have :
1/ chased the self proclaimed Tabby King out of the neighbours tree, with no help from my assembled audience of people with nothing better to do than laugh at me, and promptly lost him under the overgrown bush with purple sprouty bits. Down on my hands and knees, I poke my arm under the bush to yank him out.
I pull something out. It isn't a cat. Lets just say that it was icky and leave it there. I try again.
Ouch! My hand now has several teeth marks that weren't there before, and a lovely new seam.
The audience: "Ooooohhhhhhh"
Me: "You bloody bastard cat!"
The audience: "Bad mad cat lady - you shouldn't talk to him like that. No wonder he won't come out"
Me: "????????"
I carry on groping unseen under the bush.
Me: "Ouch!"
Harvey: Feline swearing that words don't really describe.
The audience: "Ooohhhhhh. Is she hurting him?"
Me: "Fuck off and eat Easter eggs until you choke."
The audience: "You aren't very nice"
Me: "And?"
Me: "I am going to wring your furry neck when I catch you, you little shit"
The audience: Indiscriminate mutterings as they rapidly back off. Apparently I am scaring the children.
Now it is just me and Harvey. Alone. Other than the bush.
In I reach. And bugger me if the little git doesn't come up and rub up against my arm. Yoink! We have the Tabby King.
I take in my deranged cat. who is now purring his heart out. I don't get him. At all.
I shut the door.
2/ Removed my broken computer desk.
Crash! A mini explosion sounds from upstairs. Ellie is by my feet. She is the source of most disasters, so I am at a loss. Until Frankie rockets down the stairs, puffed up like a duster.
My heart sinking, I go upstairs. And find my computer desk in several pieces across the floor. It turns out that the slightly rotund Frankie leaped from the loft bed, landed on the desk and then the floor as the desk gave way.
I haul the desk, in 3 parts down the stairs. Harvey doesn't help by sitting in the lower part as I carry it. Ellie and Frankie stay out of the way, helpfully secreting themselves in various half packed boxes. Frankie ventures out once I am done, with a look on his face as if to say "where is my climbing frame?"
It is now outside. In five pieces. I got a little frustrated, and a little hammer happy.
3/ Cleaned the floor three times.
Charlie, bless his orange cotton socks, prefers not to use the litter tray when no-one is looking. He prefers just behind it, where his offerings cannot be immediately seen.
However, I have a nose. I can smell what he has been upto. Charlie is lovely, but he is smelly. Even more so than Ellie, whose nickname Smelly Ellie is well earned.
I don't think he is marking, because the location changes everytime. I think he wants me to lose my mind.
It is working.
posted by DMouse007 @ 4/11/2004 07:47:00 PM
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