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Ah, Tilda's first pigeon. At least I assume it is hers. She certainly took ownership. Now it is in the abandoned wheelie bin. I shall vacuum the feathers up later.
She is confused - where has it gone?
She is confused - where has it gone?
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Yes, Tilda she do cute too. Yes, she do. Yes, she do. Blessum kittum snoogums...
Tilda the Mighty Conquers ... The Shed
Tilda the Mighty Conquers ... The Shed
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So today was the day - Marlowe and Tilda have officially been indoors for a month [well, may be not Marlowe], and it's time to start risking the big outdoors.
Toward teatime I got home and uncovered the cat flap, before taking two bags of used litter outside. I pause in the garden. Marlowe edges towards the threshold, and sniffs the world, jumps down. Is free. Behind her, Tilda, bigger but more nervous, and then there is a sprint outside. They pause on the lawn. They must have seen grass.
I dump the cat litter, and then figure I should be documenting this. The light is fading. I'm just too late.
I go to get the camera, and when I'm back - where are they? There's Marlowe, blending in with the bush, whilst Tilda investigates the fence and then behind the shed. She's gone from sight. Scary. I reach for Marlowe and pick her up, place her on the shed roof, just as Tilda appears. Marlowe leaps into the unknown.
I don't know about them - I've had enough. I get the cat food from the fridge, and put it down. Marlowe is there straight away - Tilda takes a little longer. They eat, I lock the back door. I go and watch Red Riding. I hear some scratching, and Tilda shits in the dining room. On a pile of newspapers. Thanks.
Marlowe sits at the back door, waiting for it to be gone again. Tomorrow. Before breakfast.
Pavlov's cats.
Toward teatime I got home and uncovered the cat flap, before taking two bags of used litter outside. I pause in the garden. Marlowe edges towards the threshold, and sniffs the world, jumps down. Is free. Behind her, Tilda, bigger but more nervous, and then there is a sprint outside. They pause on the lawn. They must have seen grass.
I dump the cat litter, and then figure I should be documenting this. The light is fading. I'm just too late.
I go to get the camera, and when I'm back - where are they? There's Marlowe, blending in with the bush, whilst Tilda investigates the fence and then behind the shed. She's gone from sight. Scary. I reach for Marlowe and pick her up, place her on the shed roof, just as Tilda appears. Marlowe leaps into the unknown.
I don't know about them - I've had enough. I get the cat food from the fridge, and put it down. Marlowe is there straight away - Tilda takes a little longer. They eat, I lock the back door. I go and watch Red Riding. I hear some scratching, and Tilda shits in the dining room. On a pile of newspapers. Thanks.
Marlowe sits at the back door, waiting for it to be gone again. Tomorrow. Before breakfast.
Pavlov's cats.
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Last night Marlowe gave me a nip in bed, designating her hungriness. I guess they were underfed as the crunchy bits had all gone, and I'd run out.
Today, however, she did a parrot impression.
From a couple of days back:
Today, however, she did a parrot impression.
From a couple of days back:
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I have spent much of the last week looking for plastic lids to reseal tins with - specifically cat food tins so they don't stink out the fridge. Whilst I was sure Lakeland would have them, Wilkinson's was more convenient and have never let me down yet.
First time for everything.
They recommended Lakeland and Steamer Trading. No joy in Lakeland. They don't do them any more. Into the basement of Steamer Trading - and I get a webpage from someone who used to pack them for a living, but they are not stocked.
That leaves the department stores with kitchen sections - nothing in Debenhams, nada in Nason's, zilch in Fenwicks.
And while we're at it, zip in Tescos and a complete blank in Sainsburys. Walk to Morrisons or bus to ASDA?
I decide that a pet shop is called for - after all, I cannot be the only pet carer left with half eaten cans.
A pause for a delivery from Tesco - cat food for 96 days and litter for I hope 96. And a free Daily Hate Mail, which I handed back, but could have used to line the tray with. But I don't want the beasts to be put off their stride.
Wander down to pet shop - and they don't have, but can order for Thursday week. I think there's a Pets at Home or some such on the industrial estate. In the meantime, I try the hardware shop next door to the pet shop. They don't exactly have a whole section, but they sell multipacks with several sizes, for about the price I'd expected to pay for one.
Result.
Shop local.
I also have two catnip mice - which are studiously being ignored.
First time for everything.
They recommended Lakeland and Steamer Trading. No joy in Lakeland. They don't do them any more. Into the basement of Steamer Trading - and I get a webpage from someone who used to pack them for a living, but they are not stocked.
That leaves the department stores with kitchen sections - nothing in Debenhams, nada in Nason's, zilch in Fenwicks.
And while we're at it, zip in Tescos and a complete blank in Sainsburys. Walk to Morrisons or bus to ASDA?
I decide that a pet shop is called for - after all, I cannot be the only pet carer left with half eaten cans.
A pause for a delivery from Tesco - cat food for 96 days and litter for I hope 96. And a free Daily Hate Mail, which I handed back, but could have used to line the tray with. But I don't want the beasts to be put off their stride.
Wander down to pet shop - and they don't have, but can order for Thursday week. I think there's a Pets at Home or some such on the industrial estate. In the meantime, I try the hardware shop next door to the pet shop. They don't exactly have a whole section, but they sell multipacks with several sizes, for about the price I'd expected to pay for one.
Result.
Shop local.
I also have two catnip mice - which are studiously being ignored.
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So Marlowe and Tilda spent most of yesterday Looking at me - there's a favoured space at the top of the stairs which allows them to look at me at my desk, or down the stairs to my passing by. There's this disbelieving look - so what are you then? You're not A--. You're not even K-A-.
I persuaded them not to be in the front room went I went to the pub - as I didn't want them to exit just yet. They were hiding in the spot when I came back. I tried the Look on B-- at the pub, and he asked me to stop as it was disconcerting him. That's a new skill then.
And thus to bed - and all the paper crap I have yet to tidy is joyously rustle-able. Every so often there was a boing as one of them forgot themselves and got on the bed. I believe Tilda was there most of the night. Marlowe has moments of thinking she's a kitten, and bounced half way up the door frame to the second bedroom, clearly wishing to do a sloth impression.
Today I had to leave them to go to work until 7, and it was nearer to 8.30 time I got home. They at least came to greet me, but again had been shut out of the lounge to avoid escapes. As I ate my dinner they studious ignore me, and that's been the pattern, aside from one of my kitchen visits, and when I was really trying to finish three exam papers: Marlowe wanted the lap and to purr and be friendly, but not to be tickled underneath. Oh no. A little nip.
And now I realise the tidying remains undone - rustles await.
Most
I persuaded them not to be in the front room went I went to the pub - as I didn't want them to exit just yet. They were hiding in the spot when I came back. I tried the Look on B-- at the pub, and he asked me to stop as it was disconcerting him. That's a new skill then.
And thus to bed - and all the paper crap I have yet to tidy is joyously rustle-able. Every so often there was a boing as one of them forgot themselves and got on the bed. I believe Tilda was there most of the night. Marlowe has moments of thinking she's a kitten, and bounced half way up the door frame to the second bedroom, clearly wishing to do a sloth impression.
Today I had to leave them to go to work until 7, and it was nearer to 8.30 time I got home. They at least came to greet me, but again had been shut out of the lounge to avoid escapes. As I ate my dinner they studious ignore me, and that's been the pattern, aside from one of my kitchen visits, and when I was really trying to finish three exam papers: Marlowe wanted the lap and to purr and be friendly, but not to be tickled underneath. Oh no. A little nip.
And now I realise the tidying remains undone - rustles await.
Most
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Since mentioning I was going to take possession of a pair of (two-year-old, female, one ginger, one tortoise shell) cats, there have been anxious emails hoping that there would be photographs.
No, really.
Sadly, I have had to swap my cameras for the cats. Better than a handful of beans.
Maybe it's one of those social things I don't get, like when people say, "You've had your hair cut."
o mi ghod - that's where the hair all went.
So they are here, and liberated from baskets, and have used the litter tray at least once. Mostly they are ignoring me, and hid by the back door. I have just let them upstairs, or rather into two of the upstairs room, and both have gazed out the back window, and sat on the keyboard. The jingling ball has been ignored. Molly/Marlowe is having a bath. Trixe/Tilda is out of sight.
One minor hissy fit. Not by me.
I suspect an escape party at some point - but I'm guessing that I ought to keep them in for now. They are less than a mile from their old house, and both are prone to roam.
Just a shame that there'll be no photos ( ... )
No, really.
Sadly, I have had to swap my cameras for the cats. Better than a handful of beans.
Maybe it's one of those social things I don't get, like when people say, "You've had your hair cut."
o mi ghod - that's where the hair all went.
So they are here, and liberated from baskets, and have used the litter tray at least once. Mostly they are ignoring me, and hid by the back door. I have just let them upstairs, or rather into two of the upstairs room, and both have gazed out the back window, and sat on the keyboard. The jingling ball has been ignored. Molly/Marlowe is having a bath. Trixe/Tilda is out of sight.
One minor hissy fit. Not by me.
I suspect an escape party at some point - but I'm guessing that I ought to keep them in for now. They are less than a mile from their old house, and both are prone to roam.
Just a shame that there'll be no photos ( ... )
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Warning - contains concealed language
Whilst I seem to be blocked on getting the article finished - and have developed a worrying habit of staying up until 3am when the idea is to get early night - I have at least written tomorrow's lecture (and tidied up the other two for tomorrow yesterday). I have also put together a paper for Saturday - and I realise now that I have no idea how long a PowerPoint should be for a twenty minute paper. An hour-long lecture clocks in at about 18 screens, of varying words, but a) my timing is off right now and b) I often go off on one. Ten screens sounds too much - but I figure I'll be going fast. Or I can just use the screens as my notes and not show them.
It strikes me that I haven't looked at the schedule as to when I am delivering.
It also strikes me that I should have had the balls to call the paper ( Ahem ) - but it would have been on my cv a long time. On the other hand, it would also have been on the annual research report.
And at some point soon I need to watch the rest of Solaris and all of the Soderbergh version, and ideally Stalker - again with a twenty minute presentation. That's a paper on ... 17th. And I need to also write one for about the 28th. Do I need to reread all of Dhalgren for then? I fear I do. For a twenty minute presentation. It would appear that a viewing of The Man Who Fell To Earth was premature in the list of priorities, as indeed was getting books on him out of the library.
Much amusement caused tonight by ITV in the south-east cutting to a commercial break about 28 minutes into extra time of some football match or other. Amusingly that was when the one goal of the match occurred. I presume someone has a P45 now.
Two potentially life-changing events next week - well, one of them may well not amount to anything after all, and I will pass over it for now, but as to the ( other: )
Whilst I seem to be blocked on getting the article finished - and have developed a worrying habit of staying up until 3am when the idea is to get early night - I have at least written tomorrow's lecture (and tidied up the other two for tomorrow yesterday). I have also put together a paper for Saturday - and I realise now that I have no idea how long a PowerPoint should be for a twenty minute paper. An hour-long lecture clocks in at about 18 screens, of varying words, but a) my timing is off right now and b) I often go off on one. Ten screens sounds too much - but I figure I'll be going fast. Or I can just use the screens as my notes and not show them.
It strikes me that I haven't looked at the schedule as to when I am delivering.
It also strikes me that I should have had the balls to call the paper ( Ahem ) - but it would have been on my cv a long time. On the other hand, it would also have been on the annual research report.
And at some point soon I need to watch the rest of Solaris and all of the Soderbergh version, and ideally Stalker - again with a twenty minute presentation. That's a paper on ... 17th. And I need to also write one for about the 28th. Do I need to reread all of Dhalgren for then? I fear I do. For a twenty minute presentation. It would appear that a viewing of The Man Who Fell To Earth was premature in the list of priorities, as indeed was getting books on him out of the library.
Much amusement caused tonight by ITV in the south-east cutting to a commercial break about 28 minutes into extra time of some football match or other. Amusingly that was when the one goal of the match occurred. I presume someone has a P45 now.
Two potentially life-changing events next week - well, one of them may well not amount to anything after all, and I will pass over it for now, but as to the ( other: )
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Some time in the new year - "both girls, both spayed. Ginger one is T--- and Tortoiseshell one is M--- but you can call them whatever you like, they don't respond to their names but I think that's just because they are rude!"
Have thought of appropriate new names that share initials and assonance of originals, and one even suits a ging.
Have thought of appropriate new names that share initials and assonance of originals, and one even suits a ging.
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Suddenly you realise it's no longer there, that presence at your ankles, that welcome on your doormat, that shedded hair on the car roof. No cries in the night. Pushkin is vanished.So many times I found him on the corner waiting for me to come back, but after I while I realised the whole street was his domain, and everyone belonged to him. He would go in the corner shop even though he'd been told not to, he'd go a block or more in each direction. He probably even went to the pub, because he'd be old enough in cat years. I bet he drinks Guinness.
There's 
a sign in the corner shop window; he has left no forwarding address. I hope he's adopted someone, let them take him to a better place, where people get the hints that he wants you to buy the cat food he's sitting next to. It's like kids bothering you to get them cigarettes even though they are underage.
Check your sheds. Check your outhouses.
About 1.30 last night there was a bunch of yowlings, and I knew that Pushkin, the street tart, was on the prowl again. I ignore it, but he clearly wasn't going to go away, and I figure I wouldn't sleep until he did. I went downstairs and unlocked and opened the front door, being careful not to expose myself to any people wandering back from Baa Baas. He was sitting in the Imp driveway, and sauntered across, as if he had all the time in the world.
Even when in the house, he didn't seem inclined to go to bed, so I left him to it, and half an hour later he finally joined me. He sat under the bed, in such a way that a squeaking noise came from my right and a pumping bicycle wheel came from the left. Clearly he was in the mood to scratch and purr. Eventually I did fall asleep, and he was still there at eight, for once showing no inclination to leave.
The time before last he got up before me and had clearly played with the bath mat. Cute. It was a damn sight less cute when I discovered he'd crapped on it. Still, right room, at least.
I went and stuck the washing on, and then he waited patiently by the front door. I think he may have left a couple of little friends behind last time, Monday night, when he followed me in. No itching so far, but you never know.
Oh, hold on.
Scratch.
Scratch scratch scratch.
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