desperance

Mac, sitting on the lid of the mushroom box, trying to figure out how to get it off.

Ordinarily he can do this, but I have meanly put it up high, where his only access is to jump up and sit on it. And then - well. The laws of physics are against him.

Which isn't going to stop him trying. There are mushrooms in there.

[Baz, meanwhile, continues to stare down the refrigerator. Which continues to dispense chicken at regular intervals. All is well in Baz-world.]

I am aware that some of my people, even some of my best people are ... not quite like me. Honestly, I do know this.

They might, for example, not enjoy cooking as much as I do. Or shopping; they might not be natural shoppers. I know.

However. Things have come to a pretty underpass, when you send a man out for papaya to go in the mutton curry, and he brings back mangoes. Mangoes. Which you do not notice, of course, until you need to cook; by which time, its being Sunday, the shops are shut and it's too late to correct.

In vengeance, I have used the extra-hot chilli powder. He'll be sorry.

In other news,

( the internal digestive troubles of a cat )

Am in the hot and steamy south, with all the windows open.

I have wifi, which I am determined not to use. QED.

I am not going to read my friends list; I have novels to read. And reading-glasses to read them with, for I am old.

I am most particularly not going to haunt my catsitters' LJs for any stray mention of the cats. That would be stalkerly behaviour, and I do not do that. Oh no.

I am genuinely and actually not going to be checking my e-mail, because I cannot remember the complicated URL I need for webmail access. My real life will be a blank to me for weeks'n'weeks. My Sooper-Seekrit Plan is that I will get a lot of work done in this interstice. Reality? Pfui. We snigger at reality, and commit humiliations upon it. I have already thought of the beginning to yet another story, tho' determined actually to finish some of those I've already started, tho' I was more properly hoping to advance the novel briskly...

Whatever. I shall write an opening paragraph, and then go for a walk. And buy coffee. I have been in this house for about twelve hours, mostly sleeping, and I have already drunk them out of coffee. *twitches*

Also, I just spotted a Mac-hair caught in my mini-mouse. Aww...

...So I come in from the shops and go straight through to the kitchen to unpack; and Barry's there, so I'm explaining this most unusual behaviour to him as I go:

"Look, these are croissants, I have to put these away before that Mac boy finds 'em; and these are chocolate bars, so ditto ditto; and this, this is real genuine cat food and we know he can razor-claw his way into these sacks, so..."

And I'm in mid-rant when it suddenly strikes me that I'm explaining this to Barry of all cats, wicked little Bazza who has proved himself entirely capable of razor-clawing on his own account; and since when did he become so much the epitome of virtue?

Since Mac moved in, of course. All things are comparative, and poor Baz has lost even his evil reputation, being put so thoroughly in the shade by whole new definitions of sinfulness...

Despite my anxieties, I do get endless fun out of watching the cats' interactions. Most nights, Barry sleeps on my bed and is entirely untroubled by Mac, who won't come in till morning. Much of the day, the poor boy lurks under chairs or behind doors, for fear of being pounced on. At meal-times, though, Baz is The Man; he eats quicker than Mac, and if left unsupervised - as he usually is, my having other things to do than watch cats eat - will muscle in on the kid and pinch the last of his food too.

Today, he did the muscling halfway through the meal. I was in the garden, picking herbs; came in to find Barry at Mac's bowl. Happily, Mac is a student of the Higher Mathematics; he has figured out that 2=1+1. He had occupied Barry's bowl in lieu of his own. Quite why Baz would have abandoned half his own food uneaten, I dunno. A power-play of some kind, I guess.

Mac is also a student of the Higher Cuddle. He is an eroticat. When Barry sits on you, it's kind of like having your lap occupied by a warm and furry cinderblock, "here I am and here I remain". Very still, very solid. When Mac sits on you, it's an act of unmitigated sensual pleasure - nah, I'm being coy, which he is not. It's an act of sex. All wriggles and stretches and big eyes and "stroke my belly now - ooh - a little bit higher... Yes! Yes ! Yes!"

Also, my carrot cake? Is a big hit with the boys. I thought it was just the cream-cheese-and-butter icing, but apparently not. The body of the cake is fully acceptable. Carrots and all.