It now being 10.32am on Saturday, I should be expecting around about now to be rolling over and wondering if I will make it to the bathroom on time if I stay just five minutes longer in the bed. Instead, I have already eaten breakfast, rolled up part of a gazebo and stowed it in its tote bag, cleared a moderate space on a dining room table, brought recyclables out the back and plomped them into the green recycling bin, spoken in various tones to one black cat and one tabby cat, and listened to a bunch of politicians and writers on the radio. The reason for this unusual Saturday morning activity is threefold:
1) I awoke to a ding dong. Followed by a ding............................... dong. Then a dingdong, dongdong, dongdong. Obviously someone was trying to get my attention at the front door. I pulled on a robe (as the Americans like to call them) and stumped off downstairs. My father usually calls early on Saturday morning, but I knew he was occupied with getting his new old car ready for an NCT test and wouldn't be visiting. The blue uniform of a post man blurred in and out of the frame of obscure glass by the front door. At least it wasn't a canvassing politician.
"Sorry about that," he said, scribbling on a registered post delivery docket.
"That's okay," I mumbled. "I was just having a wild man lie on."
"What's that?" he asked, still scribbling, then looking up.
"It's when you sleep looking like THIS!"
I thrust my head out the door in full unkempt medusa pose. His jaw dropped a little, but he recovered, gamely.
"Sign here, please?"
2) I returned to the bedroom, sat on the side of the bed, and heard:
"Shag-a-loop! Shag-a-loop! Shag-a-loop!"
Why do cats not move somewhere else when they decide to vomit? Why do they sit in the middle of the bed when they decide to vomit?
"GL-LOCKK...!
"For f**k's sake!"
The cat, having ejected the unmentionable onto (of course) the bedsheet, jumped onto the floor with a bump. Somewhere under the bed came a couple of final Shag-a-loops...
3. Cat puke cleaned up and bedsheet dumped into the laundry basket, I was considering getting back into bed with the top sheet under me when the cat sauntered over to her litter tray and completed the morning's digestive ablutions. This time from the other end.
I opened the window.
I didn't jump out. I didn't throw the cat out the window. I just let some fresh air in and got dressed. I know when I'm beaten.
Herself, who doesn't have to turn up for work today, greets me with:
"Isn't it great to be able to relax on Saturday?"
"Mumph," I said.
4 comments:
That 10.32am start and all that went on in that 10 mins or so, filled your WHOLE morning time table of jobs "to do".
Cats are so cute *S*. When mine gets a fur ball up, or is in the process of of doing it, Hubbie tells me MY cat is getting sick. She is my cat but he gives her tit bits not allowed and then she is his cat so she thinks. Then again I read cats consider you the leader (whoever feeds and tends to them ). I don't know really ....... cats are a creature on to their own. Love em though.
I was unclear. The morning started at 8.30am. The blog post was made at 10.32... :-)Eight-thirty is an ungodly hour to start any Saturday, I think. Mind you, the offending feline is now sitting on a nice, freshly-made bed. Maybe it was all a plot.
I have put the fear of god into my cats, so they now run downstairs when a hairball is coming (nice wipeable laminate floor). I think I am the dominant one in the house, but my partner Graham seems to come lower in the pecking order according to the cats, even though he feeds them!
I think I must be low on the totem pole in this house. The registered letter was for the cat.
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