One thing can certainly be said about this blog: you never know where it will take you.
It could be a reminiscence about the good old days of aviation, a sentimental tale of a long dead pet or a bitter rant about the American Medical system. Even, sometimes remarks about baking…
Just as I was considering retiring to bed with my book last night I came upon a new experience of pet ownership, one I had not previously enjoyed in all my many years as pet hotelier.
Searching for the each of 11 little darlings , in order to administer “good night” treats, I uncovered instead a large baked vomit.
The cats have all been hugging radiators since the weather turned cold. Patches often has her nose right against the heater which one feels ought to burn, but apparently doesn’t.
The house is really not cold. But cats are heat hogs.
What I found was a voluminous projectile vomit that half covered the pink blanket and the base of the radiator. It was well done by then.
Fortunately, it was not fish, though if it had been I would certainly have found it sooner.
When you accommodate 11 cats, you are never really off-duty, although you can shut off your ears and pretend not to hear things going thump in some other part of the house.
And ignore the two that wait until you are snug in bed to hurl insults at each other with much screaming and dramatic tearing about .
No one is ever injured, unless you try to intervene, in which case you become a bloodied fool.
Even my sleeping quarters were re-arranged because there was a nightly battle of wits over who could sit on which blanket and whether any of my little dears could sleep on the bed.
It’s a king-sized bed. They could all fit easily.
No, not the 11. Most of them slumber with Grant.
Blackie, Willow and Lucy were my main contenders.
Then Patches had some sort of emotional shift, giving her the courage to join the competition.
Grant came home one day with a big pillow, thinking it would resolve the dispute, though I couldn’t think how.
Willow, as I may have mentioned, is complicated.
She doesn’t want to sit in my lap or cuddle, but she does want to be close and she likes to sleep on the bed.
But not if one of the others is there.
Before I moved to a larger space, Lucy was determined to keep Willow at bay. The moment Willow was offered a new box or blanket, Lucy immediately laid claim and then Willow didn’t want it anymore.
In the new space, it’s not so easy for Lucy to be everywhere at once and now she’s watching out for Patches as well. It seems she’s accepted defeat there, and trying to drive off Blackie never worked, because that solid little lump goes where she jolly well likes and installs herself for the duration, never mind who it inconveniences. (Like me)
We seemed to have arrived at some sort of detente with the addition of a luxurious new blanket. As long as I wasn’t in the bed.
Until nights got really cold, I had not been using it and in the meantime Grant’s big pillow arrived.
So when I go to bed now, I peel back the waterproof cover, put the pillow in the middle of the bed and drape the favoured blanket just so.
Last night, Willow slept for a while on the far side of the pillow where she could pretend she was alone.
So where do we go next, from baked cat vomit?
You just never know.
One thing’s certain: there’s never just one clean-up job. It always leads to another….