The Cat on the Prat
Currently we have no sofa, the council took away the mangey old one (for £15!) and we have two weeks to wait for my mother to move house and donate her chairs. Thus in the mean time we have the cushions from manky sofa on the floor in a sort of hippy-cum-student arrangement. Mostly they’re in the corner attempting to keep curious fingers away from the gas and electric meters*.
Last night I was sat, propped against the gas meter with my laptop typing a terribly exciting document about the IT framework of a charity*, half watching Richard Wilson pootle around in an old car when suddenly there was something on my bent neck and head. The swishing around my ears and the scratching on my scalp indicated it was a cat. Naturally. Unfortunately sincemy head was bent down when Miss Thing decided I would suit a cat-hat she managed to land on my nerves and I couldn’t actually raise my arms to move her.
B was in the loft playing Red Alert with his headphones on, my mobile which I could reach had no signal and the house and office phones were at the other end of the room.
Since I was stuck in front of the laptop I tried sending an email, but pseudo-Russian soldiers are all consuming and no email was checked. I tried to see if there was a way to virtually prod him from the server, but the best I could come up with was changing his website. Which he wasn’t on, so wouldn’t have noticed. And turning the router off would have made no difference to his game, so didn’t register.
So I sat. Hunched over watching TV through the top 1/2cm of my glasses, and when eventually at the end of Newswipe Lara decided to move I could have beaten Mr Brooker at a grouchy contest hands down. Cats do not make good neck warmers/hats. Just for reference that is, incase you were ever tempted.
Then today I fear the CityLink man who just delievered my Goodness Direct order has come away thinking I am a member of some strange sect*. When at home, and not going out till later I will often loaf about in what I slept in. However, about half an hour before the CityLink man came I realised that answering the door in something that wouldn’t look amiss on a Pussycat Dolls* video perhaps wasn’t appropriate* so nipped upstairs and grabbed the first thing I found. Which was a long white petticoat. Only when greeted with a very bemused look did I realise that perhaps a woman dressed in an almost floor length white skirt, what appear to be black tights, white socks and a white top, looks a bit strange. Hmm
*Which they won’t move outside unless we pay £150+VAT per meter unit, despite the fact that it means we have to be in for the official meter reading-which often means 3 return visits for the reader. Because they never tell us in advance when they’re coming. And despite the fact that 2/3 of the equpment pre-dates my birth, surely it needs replacing now.
*Jealous are you not? It’s all excitement here.
*Not an unreasonable conclusion around here. They probably don’t have significantly better attendance than other churches but they do seem to wield some power. Plus there’s one for every 4400 people, and that’s not including those meet anywhere types. Which is far more than where I used to live.
* I much prefer the parody of Don’t Cha which is changed to “boyfriend Greek like me”. I can’t find a version to share with you but I promise you it’s much better than the original.
*I find it very difficult to find pyjamas that I properly am comfortable in so often I will sleep in what I have worn in the day sans skirt.
You have a very pesky pussy. Tabatha-Cat likes using my head as a pillow too, which is a pain.
Thank you for your comment on my blog. It sounds awful, but it’s nice to know that there are other people going through horrid times … it makes me feel less lonely.
(I tried to post this yesterday but it refused to work – *fingers crossed* it’ll work now)