Can you do the can-can?
Well, first of all thank you all for the kind words. And you too, anonymous, although why your ISP is in Luxembourg when you're not, I have no idea.
I'm feeling better most of the time, although things aren't really right yet. It looks, thankfully, like this was a blip - possibly the dark nights didn't help.
I have a new cleaner who came round at the weekend to look at the flat. She is scary and Does Not Tidy, so I will have to. (And I will investigate the many offers of help too - the 'leaving the keys and walking away' approach is hideously tempting, but seems just too lazy.
Oscar pulled his usual 'hello stranger' act with her, which impressed her. It consists of lying on the ground with a 'stroke me' face on, purring at many decibels. I rarely see this myself, in between the emptying of my shelves and the nibbling of my elbows. His dudgeon is currently top level as I have committed the heinous sin of giving him (and of course, silent Tess) a CAN of cat food. A can, not any old brand, but of the only type he'll eat (and which is the only Nestle product I have bought in almost a decade). A can of big, meaty chunks. An exemplary can. But it remains uneaten.
I have told him that there are cats starving in the world. I have asked him how he thinks he'd have survived ten years ago, before pouches were invented. I get nothing but a blank stare and a loud miaow for my efforts. I point to the bowl of biscuits, eaten mostly by Tess after Oscar has eaten The Meat, but he just shrugs, in a feline style, and slopes away to commit random acts of terror on my belongings in revenge.
Maybe not random, for he picks well. S and L, who provide wonderful holiday lodgings, have found that he can zoom in on specific things - expensive speakers, a first edition book (from a bookshelf of hundreds), packaging that matters. This is partly why I live in a shambles - I'm hiding all the stuff from him. He is particularly fond of my 'chicken fillet' enhancers, which therefore live (don't tell him) on the top shelf of the bookcase. I bought him a gruesome plastic disembodied finger from Warwick Castle to play with, which lies neglected and gory next to his food bowl, waiting to scare the new cleaner. Meanwhile, he has spent quality time 'killing' the plastic lid of a tempura sauce container.
I didn't mean to talk about Oscar, but his sheer hedonism and disregard for anyone but himself can sometimes be inspiring. Despite the occasional anguish, such as the substandard quality of today's meals, he has a wonderful life. He roams the rooftops at night if it's not too cold, sleeps wherever in the flat he decides he likes, which tonight is a soft chair next to the radiator. and he's a stunner.
I'm feeling better most of the time, although things aren't really right yet. It looks, thankfully, like this was a blip - possibly the dark nights didn't help.
I have a new cleaner who came round at the weekend to look at the flat. She is scary and Does Not Tidy, so I will have to. (And I will investigate the many offers of help too - the 'leaving the keys and walking away' approach is hideously tempting, but seems just too lazy.
Oscar pulled his usual 'hello stranger' act with her, which impressed her. It consists of lying on the ground with a 'stroke me' face on, purring at many decibels. I rarely see this myself, in between the emptying of my shelves and the nibbling of my elbows. His dudgeon is currently top level as I have committed the heinous sin of giving him (and of course, silent Tess) a CAN of cat food. A can, not any old brand, but of the only type he'll eat (and which is the only Nestle product I have bought in almost a decade). A can of big, meaty chunks. An exemplary can. But it remains uneaten.
I have told him that there are cats starving in the world. I have asked him how he thinks he'd have survived ten years ago, before pouches were invented. I get nothing but a blank stare and a loud miaow for my efforts. I point to the bowl of biscuits, eaten mostly by Tess after Oscar has eaten The Meat, but he just shrugs, in a feline style, and slopes away to commit random acts of terror on my belongings in revenge.
Maybe not random, for he picks well. S and L, who provide wonderful holiday lodgings, have found that he can zoom in on specific things - expensive speakers, a first edition book (from a bookshelf of hundreds), packaging that matters. This is partly why I live in a shambles - I'm hiding all the stuff from him. He is particularly fond of my 'chicken fillet' enhancers, which therefore live (don't tell him) on the top shelf of the bookcase. I bought him a gruesome plastic disembodied finger from Warwick Castle to play with, which lies neglected and gory next to his food bowl, waiting to scare the new cleaner. Meanwhile, he has spent quality time 'killing' the plastic lid of a tempura sauce container.
I didn't mean to talk about Oscar, but his sheer hedonism and disregard for anyone but himself can sometimes be inspiring. Despite the occasional anguish, such as the substandard quality of today's meals, he has a wonderful life. He roams the rooftops at night if it's not too cold, sleeps wherever in the flat he decides he likes, which tonight is a soft chair next to the radiator. and he's a stunner.
posted by Princessduckling | 12:24 AM
4 Comments:
No, he's a git. This observation is backed up with substantial anecdotal evidence and a large number of defunct phone chargers.
Although he can be a very cute git sometimes.
(The administrative HQ of the European Parliament is in Luxembourg, btw.)
Oscar and CatBum must never meet. There isn't enough space for that much solipsism in one room. When I failed to get out of bed at the appointed time this morning, CatBum moved from noisy protest to dirty protest. Furry little bastards, the lot of 'em.
Well, this morning, Oscar woke me by vomiting on my bed, so he wins on that little cat competition. But I know CatBum is also skilled in the ancient art of chuck up so he can't claim total domination.
I assume I have already told you the story of how when I phoned my mother in tears to say I had split up with ex MrThea, she said "Can't talk now darling, the cat's being sick on the bed and the duvet cover's not on". If not, there you are.
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