The Pink Palace is down and the cat is trying to suck up to me by way of getting sympathy. Doesn't he realise I don't like him? Without actually being a 'cat person' I normally quite like cats and I'm normally happy to have them about me but this one is an obstreperous little shit and he's cost us a small fortune in vet bills. He isn't even ours but his previous owners, who were neighbors, moved town and left him behind. I'm not surprised. He has a little girlfriend, a kitten that arrived in the area about four months ago. She's almost completely black and still wide eyed. Until a couple of days she'd fall through the cat flap and take on startled look of The Doctor's new assistant on first stepping into the Tardis.
But she's finally got the hang of the big indoor space the other side of the little door and made her way upstairs. She's crawled under the bath and got stuck, attacked the net curtain's in the Offspring's bedroom, tipped over the clothes airer, clambered into the fireplace and trailed soot over the carpet and expored the Pink Palace.
The Feline Girlfriend loves it when we do that gardening thing. She'll crawl into a pile of cuttings then trail them about like MacDuff on his way to the rout, except going in circles. Today and tomorrow we have to Panic. That's official. Not one thing's been packed. Between now and 3:00 every last required thing must be identified, sourced, labelled and packed. I'm not going to panic yet. Instead I'm going to procrastinate. Tomorrow I'm going to do panic. And the hair cutting thing.
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