We are a cat loving family. Every so often, our daughter develops a yearning for a dog, whereupon I wait for a rainy day and suggest she goes out for a lovely long walk in the woods. Naturally, this suggestion is looked upon as evidence of advanced senility on my part (actually pretty much anything I say is looked upon that way, but that's another posting.) This is the point at which I remind her that dogs need walking, every single day two or three times, whatever the weather. Bye- bye Fido and bloody good riddance. So, we stick with nice, independent felines. Okay - they occasionally catch a few little mice but at least we don't have to spend hours scooping turds out of the garden, so I reckon it's a trade off I can manage.
Our cats are called Paddy and Jim - that's Paddy top left. A shot which captures all his congenital stupidity quite nicely, I think. Somehow, Pads has become an ace hunter and we went through a nasty patch recently when he worked his way through the contents of a local rat nest, bringing the offspring into the house in various stages of dismemberment. It's alarming to realise, on your way back from the loo, first thing in the morning, that you have somehow stepped over a headless rodent corpse, laid out lovingly on the carpet at the end of the bed.
Anyway, I digress. Let us go back a couple of nights. I was utterly knackered, so retired to bed “early” (by which I mean around 10.30) hardly early but it was as soon as I could escape the clutches of the family. I was just snuggling down to a wonderful, dreamy sleep when I became aware of what I shall politely call a rumpus downstairs. There was shrieking, banging, and language most foul. Most of the language seemed to be emanating from the rosebud lips of the Shah who appeared to be uttering “YOU FECKIN' CAT” swiftly followed by “GET OUT OF HERE, YOU B*ST*RD” at several thousand decibels. The shrieking noises could be traced to two sources, viz Teenage Daughter (laughter) and Teenage Son (hysteria). Thumping footsteps drew nearer and the TS (all 6 foot of big beardy boy) threw himself on my bed squealing like a girl. I patted him on the arm and tenderly enquired as to his welfare. “What’s up with you, you big poof?” I murmured in a loving, maternal way. “There’s a RAT downstairs,” babbled he. “Go and ask Dad if he needs me to come down,” I soothed. TS trots obediently off downstairs. I hear the Shah’s response quite clearly through several inches of solid brickwork. “DON’T YOU DARE DISTURB YOUR MOTHER – YOU KNOW HOW TIRED SHE IS.” Hmm – mission accomplished, Shah.
So I tiptoe downstairs to find TD sitting on the dining table, laughing hysterically whilst trying to do some Maths homework, the Shah brandishing a broom and the TS waving a mop about in a limp wristed manner. All the furniture in the sitting room is out of place. Paddy (the donor of the rodent)having chomped all the offspring, has now brought Mum or Dad home to visit but has lost interest and curled up in a handy basket, attempting to go to sleep. This action (or lack of it) seems to have enraged the Shah even more than actually bringing the rat into the house. Rattus Giganticus is currently resident behind the tv. Paddy looks bored. I climb on a chair ('cos it seems the sensible thing to do) and not a minute too soon as the rat makes a sudden break for freedom and shoots out from under the telly and onto the Shah’s foot. The Shah commences a highly impressive St Vitus’ dance as a result which reduces the entire family to weeping hysterics. Bear in mind that all the while, he is keeping up a running commentary, consisting mainly of words that begin with the letter F...
The Shah and Rattus dance an impressive Paso Doblé (sp?) which results in Rattus G. leaping up onto the sofa and careering over the top of it while the TS attempts to mop it up somehow. It then dashes under the dining table while TD and I scream like the girls we are. Into the family room and behind the computer. TS kindly informs TD that it is “crapping itself with fear – all over your homework” Paddy strolls after it looking mildly quizzical. Rattus squeals unpleasantly. Paddy becomes a little more animated and makes a half hearted attempt to pick Rattus up in his jaws. Succeeds. Is overcome by lassitude and opens jaws. Ding Ding! Seconds out - Round Two.
This entire flipping drama consumed over an hour and a half. 90 minutes of my life that I will never get back again. 90 minutes of sleep that I could badly do with. Eventually, Rattus made a break for the back door, whereupon both cats sprang to life and roared after it.
And the consequence was:-
TD never finished her homework.
I got no sleep
TS exercised his rodent phobia
The Shah is considering auditioning for Strictly.
Our cats are called Paddy and Jim - that's Paddy top left. A shot which captures all his congenital stupidity quite nicely, I think. Somehow, Pads has become an ace hunter and we went through a nasty patch recently when he worked his way through the contents of a local rat nest, bringing the offspring into the house in various stages of dismemberment. It's alarming to realise, on your way back from the loo, first thing in the morning, that you have somehow stepped over a headless rodent corpse, laid out lovingly on the carpet at the end of the bed.
Anyway, I digress. Let us go back a couple of nights. I was utterly knackered, so retired to bed “early” (by which I mean around 10.30) hardly early but it was as soon as I could escape the clutches of the family. I was just snuggling down to a wonderful, dreamy sleep when I became aware of what I shall politely call a rumpus downstairs. There was shrieking, banging, and language most foul. Most of the language seemed to be emanating from the rosebud lips of the Shah who appeared to be uttering “YOU FECKIN' CAT” swiftly followed by “GET OUT OF HERE, YOU B*ST*RD” at several thousand decibels. The shrieking noises could be traced to two sources, viz Teenage Daughter (laughter) and Teenage Son (hysteria). Thumping footsteps drew nearer and the TS (all 6 foot of big beardy boy) threw himself on my bed squealing like a girl. I patted him on the arm and tenderly enquired as to his welfare. “What’s up with you, you big poof?” I murmured in a loving, maternal way. “There’s a RAT downstairs,” babbled he. “Go and ask Dad if he needs me to come down,” I soothed. TS trots obediently off downstairs. I hear the Shah’s response quite clearly through several inches of solid brickwork. “DON’T YOU DARE DISTURB YOUR MOTHER – YOU KNOW HOW TIRED SHE IS.” Hmm – mission accomplished, Shah.
So I tiptoe downstairs to find TD sitting on the dining table, laughing hysterically whilst trying to do some Maths homework, the Shah brandishing a broom and the TS waving a mop about in a limp wristed manner. All the furniture in the sitting room is out of place. Paddy (the donor of the rodent)having chomped all the offspring, has now brought Mum or Dad home to visit but has lost interest and curled up in a handy basket, attempting to go to sleep. This action (or lack of it) seems to have enraged the Shah even more than actually bringing the rat into the house. Rattus Giganticus is currently resident behind the tv. Paddy looks bored. I climb on a chair ('cos it seems the sensible thing to do) and not a minute too soon as the rat makes a sudden break for freedom and shoots out from under the telly and onto the Shah’s foot. The Shah commences a highly impressive St Vitus’ dance as a result which reduces the entire family to weeping hysterics. Bear in mind that all the while, he is keeping up a running commentary, consisting mainly of words that begin with the letter F...
The Shah and Rattus dance an impressive Paso Doblé (sp?) which results in Rattus G. leaping up onto the sofa and careering over the top of it while the TS attempts to mop it up somehow. It then dashes under the dining table while TD and I scream like the girls we are. Into the family room and behind the computer. TS kindly informs TD that it is “crapping itself with fear – all over your homework” Paddy strolls after it looking mildly quizzical. Rattus squeals unpleasantly. Paddy becomes a little more animated and makes a half hearted attempt to pick Rattus up in his jaws. Succeeds. Is overcome by lassitude and opens jaws. Ding Ding! Seconds out - Round Two.
This entire flipping drama consumed over an hour and a half. 90 minutes of my life that I will never get back again. 90 minutes of sleep that I could badly do with. Eventually, Rattus made a break for the back door, whereupon both cats sprang to life and roared after it.
And the consequence was:-
TD never finished her homework.
I got no sleep
TS exercised his rodent phobia
The Shah is considering auditioning for Strictly.
Teehee, reminds me of the time Mad Baz brought me home a giant (almost) dead rat for Mother's Day. There's an award for you over at my blog x
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