Well it was like this. So far the man of the house (the older, irritable one who only liked our own nineteen and a half year old cat because we’d had her a long time and got used to her) has been very forbearing of the S&H’s two (count them, two. One there and another one…..where did that cat go? What is it up to?) cats.
I knew this state of affairs would last right up to the first furball.
I was right. It lasted up to the moment he stood, barefooted in a pile of cat sick in the human’s bathroom, very early in the AM.
The S&H had gone to stay at his ex girlfriend’s for a big christening party of some friends. So he never got the chance to ‘look after everything’ (a quote from memory – he moved in 4 weeks ago.)
The extreme joy had begun at ten at night when I was putting my curlers in in the said bathroom and heard the most Godforsaken yowls coming from the smaller cat. Racial memory in the lazy monkey stirred and I chased her as she backed along the upstairs hall with the newspaper, thus enabling her to be sick on the paper, on the rug and all along the landing. Gallons of sick, mainly twigs.
So I mopped that all up and sloshed disinfectant around and had gone to bed and was well into my Kindle when the older, tireder, overserveder man of the house shouted upstairs that the cat was being sick on the lounge carpet. So, having previously taken my lenses out, I found my glasses and went down in my pyjamas to sort out the latest sick. Arriving with a cloth and rubber gloves but no disinfectant, I sent the older, tired one up for the disinfectant, which was in the bathroom, giving him the chance to leave the bathroom door open. Thus the cat, having finished being sick downstairs, was able to go upstairs and be sick in the bathroom, so that the older etc could get changed, go in there and stand in the sick.
But she did the entire length of the downstairs hall rug overnight so I could find it in the morning.
The older etc was very ratty all day, so at tea time she brought him in half a pie. You’d think he’d be grateful but he just put it in the bin.
Apricot or pumpkin, as you ask, shortcrust pastry.
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JaneLaversick.com – cats!