The evil that cats do

That thump in the night that I didn't get out of bed for, assuming it was just the cats knocking the breadboard onto the floor again, as they do?

Not the breadboard, no.

That will have been the jar of sourdough starter, being knocked off the top shelf of the fridge, in their eager process towards the cold chicken which was to have been the base of my risotto this weekend.

Snarl.

Various other stuffs got spilled and/or broken en route, but what do they care? They are free-livin' boys, and they had chicken.

I shoulda known, when Baz lounged all over the upper landing this morning rather than running down in anticipation of his breakfast. Fool that I am, I only worried that maybe he wasn't hungry because he wasn't feeling well. Grr. No more sympathy for cats...

In other news, bleah. Despite the sunshine. I am off to town to work. If I don't turn up at scheduled parties, it's because I'm working: trying to get something done before I hie off to Cambridge on Monday.