Hello yourself Steve, from an even duller wetter and windier Kerry. There’s always a “draft” coming from the Atlantic Ocean here.
I finally resurrected about 12.45pm today. Being owned by four cats is no mean feat. They are demanding creatures and completely ungrateful. They all have their own places of leisure. My eldest boy, number 1, is a true black beauty. Sleek and lithe and , quite simply, adores me. Having had him from about 10 days old and hand feeding him, he regards me as his mother. He sleeps in the bed with me. Or I should say on me, across my throat, on my pillow at the top of my head, along my spine or, lately, between me and my husband, rather like a possessive child. ANywhere, so long as he is as close as possible to me.
2.30am he decided it was time for his nocturnal constitutional. Having let me know this by jumping off the bed and clawing the bed base, I get up, carefully, slowly and stiffly. Slide the back door open, he eyes the gales and rain with sleepy eyes and decides to nonchalantly return to the bedroom. Meanwhile, number 4 turns up at the doorstep, seeing an opportunity to swap his mousing escapades for the warmth of the kitchen and the wood burner. He shoots in, past my legs. I notice the disemboweled mouse outside in the pool of light! With goosebumps on my goosebumps, I hobble towards to corridor to the bedroom.
Number 3 however, arrived from the sofa where he had been sleeping, hoping for the prospect of being fed “out of hours”. He is a rather rotund, elderly ginger gent. Works every time. I go to the food bin and fill all four bowls. As the gluttonous felines dive into their food bowls, I finally get back into my comfy, warm bed. Husband snoring rymthicly.
A little while later, number 1 begins destroying the bed base once more. He really does need to go out. I repeat the procedures again. Sliding door wide open, so are cats eyes…nope. I’m sorry mum. I just cannot bring myself to go outside in that. He delights in my swearing and flees to the sitting room to hide behind the sofa. Number 2, they only female, is eyeing all this activity with disdain and in fear and anticipation of being put outside, she sinks her claws deeper into the back of the chair, like Velcro. Glaring at me in defiance.
It is now 3.20am. I am both tired and cross. As I tried to get into bed again, I’d forgotten I can’t always lift my legs up and in, when I’ve sat on the edge of it. So, I carefully, very very carefully, lift my left knee, and kneeling precariously on the edge of the mattress, manage to get my right knee on it. On all fours, I then have to manoeuvre into some position, until I can lie down. Still the rhythmic snoring continues.
Number 1 appears in the doorway and is just waiting for me to start to nod off. I just know he has every intention of beginning the torment again . Last effort…get back out of bed, and as predicted the little barsteward ran off and hid again!!
This time I went into the spare bed room, with it’s blackout curtains and firmly closed the door! No idea what time it was. I slept soundly until lunchtime. By 3pm my eyes were closing as I sat in the chair!
Husband announced he had not heard any of these performances. He told me he put number 1 outside “in the small hours”, as he was scratching the bed(!) and never even knew I wasn’t in the bed until he woke up at 8.30am. I could have been prostrate on the floor anywhere in the house and he would never have even known.
Poppy…Feeling a little unloved, un noticed and dejected