Marching On

Cousin It no more

I finally set foot inside a hairdresser's.

I hadn't had my hair cut in around ten months.  And it showed.  God, did it show!  Remnants of fucking scarlet mixed in with Brazilian Brown.  Split ends up to my ears and broken hairs from badly placed slides.

I don't really like going to the hairdressers.  The mindless and artificial small talk that one is obliged to partake in pisses me off no end, and I always without fail forget to put in contact lens so I can see what they are doing. Plus the tea always tastes like crap.

And yesterday was no different.

Many moons ago I used to be a skinhead.  I loved it - no buggering about in the morning with hairbrushes, hot brushes and other hair shit.  Get out the shower and be ready to go.

Times change and hair grows.  My hair had reached lengths not seen since primary school and had managed to cascade down my back, like a brown and scabby waterfall.  It had to go.

I went in at the appointed time.  I had no clue what I wanted, except to lose as much hair as possible. 

The stylist was aghast at her mission.

"Cut off all your hair?  Are you sure you want to do this?  How about we go for a chin length bob and if you want it shorter, you can always come back"

I was determined, if vague about small matters such as style.  The hair had to go.  We flicked through some magazines to get an idea of what I wanted.  And we found it.

Snip, snip, snip.

Hair piled up around our feet, despite the best efforts of the salon junior.  I didn't get to see too much of the transformation as I was without glasses for most of it.

I put my glasses back on and looked in the mirror.  Greeting me was someone I hadn't seen in years, and hadn't realised just how much I missed. 

Me. 

Angry

Oh yes.

Yet another dickwad politician is trying to interfere with women's right to privacy under the guise of "protecting children".  Quite how obtaining the details of all women in Kansas who have had abortions past 22 weeks will achieve this is beyond me.  Oh hang on, let me guess.  The children he really wants to protect are the ones that women are having the temerity to abort for their own personal reasons.

Fucktard.

Then there are the good religious ladies of a forum I frequent.  They are for the most part very nice ladies.  But they have cottoned on to a fellow bloggers tragedy and are now slating her and her decision, because it is contrary to their beliefs. She is "hard hearted" and "selfish" for her decision to induce a child that will not be able to live. 

They are concerned for the stresses that the child may undergo in induction.  Fuck the stresses it will undergo at full term birth.  Fuck the stress that the mother, father and sibligs will feel, watching a child growing that will die at birth.  Waiting for the inevitable.

Can someone please explain to me exactly why an unborn child is of greater importance than the mother?  The existing family? 

Because I don't get it.  At all.

There be snow!!!

The weather forecast actually got it right.

My newly dug garden is buried under a thick blanket of snow.  And it is fucking freezing!

Now who's bright idea was it to move to the top of a hill in the middle on nowhere?

Cats and Dogs

Ellie and Lila have a love-hate relationship.  They can't stand to be apart, but then they fight like, well, cat and dog really.

We keep a spare kitchen roll in the living room for the Puddle Patrol.  It has to be kept out of Lila's reach because she will eat it.  Ellie can be trusted not to attack it (Harvey used to love shredding paper of any sort, but thankfully Ellie has not taken on that trait).  At least we thought so.........

For a few days now, we have been coming in to find a shredded kitchen roll on the floor.  The first time we put it down to an accident - maybe Ellie just knocked it when they were playing?

The truth came out today.  Ellie deliberately knocks it down so Lila can shred it. Lila whines until Ellie runs around the room, leaping from table to bookcase to table.  She sits and watches Lila and then bops it down to her.  Lila rolls it around the floor before pouncing and eating it.

They are fantastic to watch when they are playing.  Lila is so jealous of the cats ability to jump - it is clear from her face:

"Why can't I do that?" 

"It's not fair"

She tries to follow them when they jump, but her sturdy little frame just isn't designed to work that way.  She cries when Ellie sits on the table, because she gets told off for climbing on it.

But they have their sweet moments together.  Whilst the other cats are accepting of Lila, even when she sneaks upstairs into their room (it is in fact my bedroom, but they seem to think they have more right than me to the bed), they prefer that she keep her cold wet nose to herself.  Any attempt at contact are met with a hiss and a bop, and Lila rapidly retreats.

Ellie however, will sit touching noses with Lila.  Ellie will allow Lila to sniff and lick her. Not too much licking, mind, but enough to satisfy Lila.

Lila's little stump wags so much when Ellie is anywhere near her.  Lila worships her.  Ellie believes this to be completely natural - after all she is a cat, and a tortie at that.  She was born to be worshipped and adored.

This is causing some confusion however.  Lila believes that she is a cat.  A cat that can't jump particularly well, but a cat nevertheless. 

She is developing a little bum wiggle for use pre pounce.  She is great at bopping.  She has a grumble that sounds exactly like a pissed off Ellie.  She prefers Da Bird to a rawhide bone.  She tracks birds across the sky. 

I have a rottweiler with an identity crisis.  Just my bloody luck!

The Sims 2

Has anyone else got this?

It is the best time waster I have.  I am currently engaged in ruining countless people's life in one neighbourhood, and I have the legacy challenge going on in another.

I am also trying to find the teenage woohoo cheat........nothing like some knocked up teenage slapper to liven up a game!

Sunday's

Silent alarm clocks.  Lazy lie-ins.  Late breakfasts.  Huge cups of fresh coffee with whipped cream.  Sunday roasts.  A quiet read.  A leisurely pint in the pub.  Long hot baths. 

Those were the pre-pet days.

Nowadays............

A silent alarm clock.  Charlie bopping my hand to wake me at the time my alarm clock would have gone off.  Hollie bopping my face to wake me and move Charlie.  Ellie hanging off of the curtains.  Ozzy talking to himself. Frankie snoring. The Baron snoring.

Lila howling, demanding breakfast, a walk and playtime.  Clean up after teh dog.  Clean the litter tray.  Feed the cats.  Feed the dog.  Clean up after the dog.  Clean the litter tray again.  Put more cat food down as Ozzy ate it all. Play with the dog. Clean up after the dog.

Remove Frankie from the shower.  Have shower.  Remove Charlie from warm towel.  Get dressed.  Remove Charlie from damp towel.  Remove Willow from the washing basket and put the towel in.

Clean up after the dog.  Make breakfast.  Start eating.  Chase dog into conservatory for peace and quiet.  Return to find a cat eating my breakfast.

Sit down with a cup of tea (Ellie got into the cream I just whipped for coffee, and there isn't enough to make another cup).

Start getting lunch ready.  Retrieve howling dog from conservatory.  Clean the conservatory.

Put the roast in the oven.  Trip over Willow as she assumes her watch guard position.  Feed the dog.  Clean up after the dog.  Ignore Willow's piteous cries.

Take lunch out.  Put dog in conservatory.  Return to find Frankie and Willow licking the joint of meat.  Pretend I didn't see.  Serve and eat.

Ignore untidy kitchen.  Remove howling dog from the conservatory.  Clean the conservatory.  Feed the dog.  Feed the cats.  Remove the dog from the litter tray.  Scoop the litter tray before the dog eats anymore.  Clean up after the dog.

Collapse on the sofa.  Open book.  Read two lines.  Remove Charlie from the book.  Tend to bleeding bite wound.  Read two lines.  Remove Frankie from the book.  Put book away.

Debate going to the pub. Realise the dog has chewed through my bootlaces (again).  Decide that the pub is too much effort.

Clean up after the dog.  Play with the dog.  Tend to new bleeding bite wounds.

Decide to have a bath.  Remove Frankie from the bath.  Run bath. Get in.  Watch Ellie eat the bubbles.  Watch Frankie fall in.  Retrieve Frankie.  Remove Charlie from warm towel.  Dry Frankie.  Get dressed.  Remove Charlie from damp towel.

Try to get into bed.  Inch Ozzy over.  Don't move too quickly or Charlie gets upset.  Leave room on the pillow for Hollie.  Leave room at the end of the bed for Willow.  Realise I am lying on Frankie's tail.  Sneeze and send them all running.

Fall into an exhausted slumber. 

And look forward all week to the next Sunday......

Older than me!

Happy Birthday, dear Baron!

He has attained the grand old age of 28 today. And he is not too happy about that!

Stock take

I am back on a diet. A proper diet. With exercise. I will lose this excess weight and keep it off.

I have booked Lila's puppy training classes. She isn't allowed out for another three and a half weeks but as soon as she has the all clear, her bottom is going to training and agility. In the meantime, we will continue as we are. Lots of training and games and marching round the garden on lead.

I will get a new lead for my amp and get back to playing my bass again. It is not that much fun without an amp.

The Baron will turn his socks out or he will have no clean socks.

I will finish my photo album of the Harvey Cat. I have picked the pictures, I just need some printer ink to print them.

I will get on with writing my book.

I will get my hair cut.

Older and wiser?

I'm 27 now. Crap.

Things to be pleased about:

I live with my best friend and partner.
I have seven great pets.
I'm qualified (at last!).
I own my own house.
My family are reasonably normal.

Things that aren't so great/need work:

I miss my Harvey Cat.
I am three years away from thirty.
I wanted to have finished having children by thirty. I think aiming to have at least commenced trying by thirty is the best I can manage.
Getting the Baron to turn his socks the right way out.
Stopping Lila sneaking upstairs to piss on the carpet.

Charlie's adoptaversary

We've had Charlie one whole year.

In that time, he has gone from being a scared and vicious beast to a love bunny who wants to be held all the time. From permanently pissed off, to laid back and mellow. It is an amazing change.

Charlie's previous "owners" moved and left him behind. He lived on the streets for three months and was periodically fed by neighbours (when they could find him). During his street days he was kicked and beaten. By the time he reached the shelter he was almost impossible to handle. He bit all of the staff, and was days away from being put to sleep after a month long stay.

We were out in the vicinity and decided to have a look. I accidently turned onto the motorway instead of carrying on round the roundabout. But for some reason, I really wanted to go. I went to the next junction, turned around and came back.

There he was. A huge lump under the blankets in a cage, with a big notice asking people not to touch the cage. In blatent disregard, I tapped the cage to see who was in there. All I saw were the most beautiful amber eyes staring balefully out from the blanket. Pleading to get out of that cage.

I was not allowed to go in and see how he reacted to me - the staff refused to handle him. I looked at the Baron, and he just nodded. We took a huge chance, and said we would just take him.

He used to bite, hiss, scratch and growl at anything that moved, and a lot of things that didn't. He hid under the bed, and fought with the others (originally Harvey, Frankie and Ellie).

He hated me. He adored the Baron though and used to sit on his lap and hiss at me. Then one day, he sat on my lap. I rubbed his cheeks, he bit me but stayed sitting, and from then on, he has been my cat.

At this moment in time, he is stretched out upside down on my bed, in contact with not just Frankie, but Ozzy as well. He hasn't batted a paw at Oz once, and he is quite happy to share the bed with him. He tolerates Lila. Just.

He loves to have his head and face rubbed. In the last few weeks he has actively sought out belly rubs at night. He loves to lie on me when I am in bed, paws resting on my chin and whiskers tickling my face.

Happy Adoptaversary, Charlie. I hope we have many many more years together.