Sodding Cat Does it Again

I'm not at work today YAY - it's a US holiday, wot I get. It started too early, unfortunately, with Exhibit A - Sodding Cat - waking me up at some god-forsaken time asking to go out. If I don't want him to wake the whole household I'm obliged to give in to his every whim (which are many) so I opened the bedroom door whereupon he shot to the door/window. I opened that, plus the shutters, SC a quivering body of Desperate-To-Get-Out feline, except that, haha, it was raining and he lost interest. Immediately. He had woken me up For Nothing, me lud!

I let him settle on my bed (I'll probably pay for such laxity all week) hoping he'd given up for the night, and sleep, something cats are reputed to do most of the time. During the day at least. A bit later, he woke me up again, this time having listened for the rain, heard it had stopped, and became desperate to go out for the second time in the middle of the night. He was lucky I didn't boot him out. Actually I tried but he was too quick (being desperate an' all).

He is now firmly asleep (another talent) on my youngest's bed and will undoubtedly remain there all day (it's raining again) until tonight when he'll suddenly perk up and choose 3am to be desperate to go out. It's a miracle he's still alive. Actually it's only because I still have 5kg of Science Diet crunchy food and don't want it to go to waste that he hasn't been strangled in some dead of night fury.

So there I was, having a lie-in after my disturbed night, thinking I may get up around 9am, slope about in jimmies for the morning and tackle my latest writing task - chemistry (about which I know little more than that the elementary table exists and hydrochloric acid is HCl and reacts with something to produce something else, god knows what and frankly, who cares?). The boys, naturally, would get themselves ready and off to school as they do normally (in front of the tele watching something shreiky and cartoony which I flatly refuse to have anything to do with hence my escape upstairs to read the online Times, separately and in peace. No happy communal family breakfast in our house, it's every man for himself!).

Except that, at 8.15am, Exhibit B - my youngest - shouts up from downstairs asking me to take him to school. The little tyke, thought I in my pre-humanity-inducing cup of tea state. Why? I shouted back (you can tell we don't live in a mansion where this sort of exchange would have to be carried out by inter-phone or by appointment face-to-face). Cos it's raining, came the reply. I withdrew little tyke thoughts, and inserted grudging recognition that this was a legitimate reason to get my warm bed-happy arse up and into the car.

With my early morning ruined then, I'm sitting here yawning despite intake of tea and wondering how to cope with chemistry. I had planned on being dynamic and successful today, haha. Maybe I'll just go back to bed for a while. Or fart around on Facebook/Twitter.

No, I'll go and wake that sodding cat instead and show him what it's like to have disturbed sleep! That's a good mature and adult thing to do... the little sod!

WebCat 4.0

I was rather taken with this history of blogging, being a cat lover myself - not a crazy Brigitte Bardot type dotty old bat with 50 rescued moggies doing a wall of death jumping from curtains to chair tops to kitchen work-surfaces to tiny window into the garden without once touching down paw to tile - having just the one, Ulysse.

I haven't actually blogged about him much mainly because he keeps himself to himself so I don't see what he gets up to. I know he's the chef du quartier and sees off intruders without much injury, to himself at least. It's only now that the weather is getting cooler that he is deigning to spend more time in our company. Asleep.

Funny how the History of Blogging sounds different if you replace 'cat' with 'dog'. It's just not the same.

Is this what blogging boils down to really though? Telling cat tales? Ultimately, probably, yes. But you're getting into deep water if you ask 'what is the meaning of blogging?', almost as much as if you ask 'what is the meaning of life?'. You can answer both with 'existence'. A blogger's desire to exist visibly - I blog online, therefore I am - is palpably linked to the point of his/her existence. If nobody sees you, are you really there?

I know I'm here, because you are reading this blog...

So, to celebrate the reaffirmation of my existence, for your pleasure and your joy, I offer you the latest cat cartoon from Simon's Cat.

The ultimate in cat blogging.

Stocking Up

I'm feeling weak. Pierrette, my personal shopper has been with bags and bags of clothes she would otherwise take to the flea market, to lead me through a voyage of discovery. Cut-offs, nifty tops, Marie-Sara (the torera) jacket, elegant dresses, the odd couture garment and items from the boutiques of St Tropez.

How can a girl resist?

Frankly, I can't. In my defense, I don't shop in shops, buy nothing new, and just ravage through Pierrette's bags twice a year. I have a mound of clothes I must now find homes for in my wardrobe, but only last week I had been looking despairingly at my wardrobe and wailing inwardly that I had nothing to wear.

Not true, natch, but nothing leapt out at me crying 'WEAR ME' from the depths of the cupboard, so I resorted to wear the same old same old stuff. It's not easy at the moment either, with temperatures starting at 7°C when I leave home, reaching nearly 20°C at lunchtime, and falling again by 5pm. Boots or shoes? Stockings or bare feet? Pullover or jacket? So many decisions, such painful moments spent staring at clothes I've been wearing all winter.

It's much like the catfood counter when one feeds one's cat tinned catfood. I remember standing staring at Whiskas, and the like, if not for hours, certainly an inordinate amount of time compared to the rest of the family shop, just because the resident cat had gone off most of what was available. Ulysse is not spoilt for choice in this way. He gets posh crunchy catfood (Royal Canin) and that's it, bought in 50kg sacks which last about six months.

So, while my chequebook is feeling faint, my cupboard is feeling bullish at the prospect of a wad of newcomers all vying for room. Hopefully I'll be able to consign my pullovers to the winter suitcase soon so making room for spring and summer stock. No new shoes though. I might have to brave a shop or two if I am to make the most of my new looks. They won't go with the shoes I've got. At the very least I'll need espadrilles.

Clothes, even d'occas, are so terribly good for the moral. I feel I'll have a spring in my step tomorrow.

And who knows what tonight...

Which famous cat am I?

I am quite the sucker for silly quizzes and have to restrain myself from spending too much time on them, although I don't do ones such as 'Which B/C-Celebrity are you?'.
This quiz was found on BeepBeep's site, and as a cat fan, I couldn't resist. I have no idea who Hobbes is though!

Which famous feline are you?

You're Hobbes. First of all, the makers of this quiz would like to congratulate you. You have our seal of approval. You are kind, intelligent, loving, and good-humoredly practical. You're proud of who you are. At the same time, you're tolerant of those who lack your clearsightedness. You're always playful, but never annoying. For these traits, you are well-loved, and with good cause. Take this quiz! Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Naughty Ulysse!

I am compelled to tell you about naughty Ulysse. Not only has he caught TWO birds recently - their poor little corpses are lying in my garden and I hadn't seen them until today as it has been a bit wet and I haven't needed to water the flowers - but he chased the cat over the road INTO HIS OWN HOUSE and had fisticuffs all over the sofa and up the stairs!

There! I knew you'd be shocked. The worst of it was that we were standing watching helplessly. I just missed grabbing him as he shot over the fence - he's more slippery than a conga eel that one - and he careered up the garden after the little kitty who's new and hasn't been there more than a couple of days.

Actually, in my opinion they should be keeping him in for a week, no outings at all, because he could escape and not be able to find his way back. I'm sure Ulysse would be no help either. I doubt he'd volunteer for Mountain Rescue Cat duty. Or even Suburban Rescue Cat duty (or Chat de Sauvetage de Lotissement for those interested in the Official French version). No, he'd be rubbing his paws together with glee and hissing that if the poor little thing came near that he would shoo him off again. Thus leaving Ulysse to be sole pretender to Suburban Chiefdom.

A few years ago I had an elderly Burmese female cat who was very territorial. I had taken in a poor little kitty whose owner was going back to Australia and couldn't take him too. He and my cat took one look at each other and knew it wasn't going to work. She was absolutely horrid to him. One evening, he was allowed out and there was just one window open, from the loo upstairs. I swear she sat by the open window the whole night and swore at him if he appeared there, but not so loudly as to wake the household. She prevented him from coming back, and he had to go and find another, more welcoming household. I looked for him, to no avail.

When his owner came on a visit a year later, he asked after his cat and I had to tell him the truth, just in case he asked to visit. It would have been most embarrassing! He was a little crestfallen, but I cheered him with the news that I hadn't seen any little furry bodies by the side of the road, and was sure a nice person had been charmed by his feline good looks and fluffy coat. My own cat was quite nauseatingly smug for some time afterwards.

I am sure Ulysse would behave in exactly the same disgraceful way. Luckily our neighbour was not in the least put out by my kittypoo behaving like a voyou interloper in her house chasing her own cat. In fact, it got us chatting out in the garden. She even said what a nice cat Ulysse is!

There's neighbourly for you!