An exciting evening was spent studying pussycat-paw-preferences. If you are already yawning, stop reading now, this is the excitment climax sentence for this blog post. This is the sound made by the fluffballs decending the staircase of danger in WendyHouse:
Matrix: bur-bump, bur-bump, ber-pump
Sampo: bump—bump–bump-bumpbumbbump
Watching the bumpy affair indicates that Matrix always first puts her left-paw onto the next step while Sampo uses the not-insubstantial momentum of her stomach to launch herself down planting her left paw on every other step. The cunning corner two steps before the bottom of the staircase has occassionally taken advantage of Sampo’s momentum to literally bump her. Sampo, not the brightest of kitties.
Matrix = left-pawed
Sampo = Ambidextrous
On the 1hr drive to Reading from the Gatwick Animal Reception Centre Matrix rode gunshot purring, chatting and rubbing the journey away. Sampo silently hid under her food dish. Within an hour of being given free reign of the Wendy House Matrix had eaten, drunk, pooped, then snooped into every cat-sized orifice she could find. Meanwhile Sampo slurped a sack of water then watched the goings-on from the safety of under the dining room table before a tip-toe exploration.
Then. They both got on with the serious matter of snore-laden snoozing in front of the fake-real fire.
Pleasing the kitties was a primary influencer when selecting a new-old Wendy house. The main bedroom, conservatory and fake-real fire are already big-hits. Phew.
Tricky-test passed.
Now champagne and kebabs… Hoorah!
Today I’m catless, carless, surrounded by dissembled furniture and half packed suitcases.
Goodbye blubbing by me and soulful wailing by Sampo. Matrix looked her normal relaxed self.
Matrix and Sampo can’t join me in the UK until the last 4 months of their PETS passport process, 6 months quarantine, is finished. Today they moved to their US foster home.
It’s cold. While shivering and looking for a quick dose of warmth I push my hands deep into my jacket pockets. In one pocket I felt a warm fluffy object. Like a soft furry stick. It did the job but I didn’t know what it was. I pulled it out of my pocket to take a look. It was Matrix’s right front leg, apparantly recently severed from her body. Still warm and wet with blood.
I woke-up very suddenly. I suspect that was a real nightmare that wasn’t cheese induced. Despite distinctly recalling going to bed last night I was definitely not in bed when I woke on the floor about 20 feet from the bed. At least matrix is okay but I’ve gained a nasty bruise on the back of my head and an ache to match.
Ouch.
Malicious mischief is an actual offence in Washington State and a way of being for Matrix when she smells roses. Being a very English domestic cat she simply loves a mouthful of roses.
This week I’m eating Salemville Amish Blue cheese from Wisconsin. It is moist, flavourful, crumbly and tongue-slitheringly creamy….
Eyan reports that Microsoft Word losing 2 hours of his intellectual effort and a Gouda supper prefaced this rocky dream:
I was with my mother on the coast somewhere - the coasts were rather open and vast, somewhat influenced by photos I saw on Flickr.com. I climbed down a rocky ravine to get down to the beach (this is more influenced by the upper Algarve) My mother was urging me on. But, true to style, I got stuck and was in grave danger of falling off and breaking a good few bones.
After an evening scoffing meowmix; Matrix leapt out of a seamingly deep coma with this dramtically delivered dream report:
Meow meow meow MEOW meow MEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOW
