Saturday, 25 October 2008

Friday 14 December 2007

Are you all set for Christmas? I am.

I don't normally enter into the festive spirit this early on, but I took my first turkey of the season today, so am beginning to feel a little bit Christmassy. The turkey (and accompaniments) were left-over from the Christmas party celebrated by my partner's parents and their work colleagues yesterday evening and were most acceptable. I didn't go to the party, but accompanied my partner to the pub. I was offered some beer, but chose instead to snooze on the feet of one of my partner's friends. Possibly not as comfortable, but generates far less call for late-night wee-wees. My partner attended the beginning of the Chrimble party and had some party chat, and pulled a few crackers. They were quite good - a sparkly comb which she is going to keep in her bag, and a small water-pistol, which I am sure will have many uses.

For I caught my partner crying again this evening. I was ambling sedately to the foot of the stairs, when I heard the strains of James Blunt's song Goodbye My Lover, drifting down towards me. Uh oh. I hastened my pace and sped upstairs, but was too late. My partner was already crying her lonely tears. There was nothing I could do, except place a consoling paw upon her foot and sit silently by. I wish I could do more. But there is only one who can ease her pain and he isn't coming back.

One of my partner's colleagues this morning attempted to 'fix her up' with a gentleman unknown to my partner. I am sure he had nothing but the best intentions, but when he and my partner went to spy on the 'target' of his plan from the relative safety of behind a potted-plant, she was distinctly unimpressed. This 'date' would also have cost her £40, which the onset of Christmas defines as impossible. I have not yet decided what to do with this matchmaking young Cupid. I may spare him. I shall see how I feel when I have given the matter further consideration.

For I am not feeling particularly merciful at present. The happy little band of carousers mentioned in my previous entry were DEFINITELY cats. As well as annoying the hell out of me, they have also been defecating on Maisie's garden. She has carefully placed moth-balls all along her well-tended borders - they repel cats as well as moths, apparently. The evidence so far suggests that they work. At least, as far as the garden-latrine goes, because the little choir serenaded me again last night. I am going to ask Maisie for the packet of moth-balls, in the hope that it bears the name of the manufacturer. I will then write to them, and request a moth-ball the size of one of those demolition company wrecking-ball things. That'll repel the little b*st*rds in more ways than one. Yet again last evening, while I was just drifting off into delicious sleep, my ears tensed as I heard scuffling and feline giggling outside my window. There was a clearing of small throats, a quick "mi, mi, mi," followed quickly by this most unmusical offering of verbal diarrhoea:

"Jasper is a fat dog,
Whenever he is sat,
He often is mistaken for
A Hippo on the mat

Yes, Jasper is a chubby boy,
When he went for a swim,
Up sailed a Japanese whaling fleet
To try to harpoon him..."

Again, the "song" ended abruptly, strangled by hysterical laughing and mewing. I caught a glimpse of the three comedians as they laughed at and congratulated themselves on their own brand of mirth. It was indeed the New Cat, accompanied by a regular Siamese sidekick of his. The third member of this hilarious trio was the (much quieter), Burmese cat who shares a house with the other two and this surprised me; this Burmese always seemed a rather affable chap as cats go. I was about to bark an angry tirade at the cats, who were trying to regain control of themselves in order to begin another verse, but I was beaten to it. The bedroom window of Bob, Maisie's husband, was flung open. A pair of slippers flew towards the little group in the street with surprising speed, and the wretched moggies scattered, accompanied by the sound of Bob shouting "It's quarter to bl**dy three in the bl**dy morning! B*GGER OFF!!" As his window was angrily slammed shut I settled back to sleep and one of my sleepy eyes alighted for a moment on the small water-pistol from the Christmas cracker. Hmmm.....

Good night.
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