Good Morning All
The white stuff keeps falling. All attempts with salted grit to keep the pathway clear has been abandoned. No more shuffling up to the chucks in summer slip-on shoes. Oh no. Now it requires thermal socks and wellies. Mind you, the wellies are pretty useless for wet/snowy conditions since I trod on a nail and made a hole in the sole and the tops are not much better since sticking the garden fork through the bit near my big-toe. I probably should consider buying a new pair?
The chucks won’t set a foot on the snow and stand goggled eyed, in pure horror, staring at the world outside their warm, comfy shed that has suddenly turned white – the world not their shed! I don’t push it because knowing my luck they’ll get frost bite in their talons and it’ll be a trip to the vet. And that in itself is pretty amazing. The Christmas eve before last saw us at the vets with one of the chucks. It had what I thought was a fungus infection. The vet confirmed it. The internet, two days later dispelled the theory. The complaint was normal. However, I digress. The chucks bill came to almost £50. The bill for having Chea spayed, and remember it is an intrusive operation, was £64. Seems a bit weird to me. But then, as I have said before and on many occasions, many things seem a bit weird to me.
We were/are considering going to an early showing of Life Of Pi today. Richard has a day off and so we thought it might be nice to trot along to the cinema and sit happily munching popcorn for a couple of hours. Actually I don’t think Richard is that bothered but just now he is attempting to keep his head low and his ‘privates’ intact! Yesterday he peed me off mega! And this is how …
First you have to understand that he is clumsy! And when I say clumsy I mean CLUMSY. My son had come over first thing to continue the war that has been raging between the two of us, on and off, for a while now. Richard, a pacifist by nature, decided to make a quick exit and drove off, after doing a manic wheelie, to see his mother. When the verbal war was over – finally, I believe – and my son went home I decided to feed little Chea who was half-starved having not been fed for 2 hours. Now, she has two lovely little dishes, chosen especially because they were the right shape for her to munch away and have easy access to every last morsel of food. I picked up the dish from the previous feed and opened the cupboard to get out the second dish. It wasn’t there. I spent ten minutes searching while Chea gazed on, salivating and growing thinner by the second. A little thought reared up in my brain. ‘He’s broken the bloody thing.’
With my ‘war’ head still slightly on I texted Richard at his mothers. ‘Have you seen Chea’s dish?’ The reply came back. ‘No. I’ll be home shortly.’ Sooo I continued looking with the niggling knowledge that Richard had broken the dish. I searched the dustbin and the bin in the kitchen for a further five minutes – anyone who knows a Scorpio will know that they NEVER give up when they know they are right. Sooooo I rang him. ‘Have you broken Chea’s dish?’ There was a pause, followed by, ‘er…yeah.. I threw the leftovers on the shed roof this morning for the birds and it slipped out of my hand.’
I can’t tell you what was said after that because whichever way you look at it, it is not pretty and I try to never put down on paper anything that can be held against me.
What I will say is this. I informed Richard that unless he stopped by the pet shop on the way home and replaced the dish he would find the door locked. And if the first thing through that door wasn’t a cat dish he most certainly would not be coming in.
Harsh? Cruel? Over the top? No it isn’t/wasn’t. And I’ll tell you why. Break the cat bowl by all means you great clumsy oaf but DON’T tell me you haven’t and let me turn the entire kitchen upside down for twenty minutes looking for it!
Is my time less precious than his? No it is not. So I locked the door and left the keys in it so that he couldn’t get in. Eventually a shape appeared at the door, with a key in its hand. Before I could bellow, ‘have you got that dish?’ a dish-shaped object was held up against the glass.
Bloody idiot. How dare he waste my time like that? And lie? Double bloody idiot! So as I say, he’s complying to most suggestions just now and is more than happy to drive me through the snow drifts and Arctic-type winds, to the cinema. Result. Bless him.
So I will end now my lovelies and go and prepare myself to be seen in public, and hopefully, if I’m not stuck in a snowdrift in repayment for my bloody-mindedness I’ll catch you all tomorrow.