house faffing

We're having a bunch of rotten weatherboards replaced on the Purple Palace's exterior, a move  preparatory to having it painted.  Purple no more.  We'll likely go with a grey with white trim and a black-ish front door which is terribly boring and predictable, isn't it?  Well, I am terribly boring and predictable and only occasionally am bothered by that fact.  Still, there'll be a little purple nostaglia I think, when the first coat goes on, hiding the lavender glory (mauve magnificence?).

The builders are also replacing the small window in our bedroom and the front door, the current one having a crack so large I can see daylight through it.  I think they've sourced replacements via TradeMe (NZ's answer to Ebay or Gumtree or something).  A mysterious door is sitting outside the house and I hope they haven't spent too much on it because it's got ugly missized panels.  We asked for a door with a window, to let light into the hall.  It's all a bit mickey mouse (although, we are paying GST on this one at least, unlike another guy who quoted as a cash job and told me that you can roll a turd in glitter, but it's still a turd.  Amazing.)

I went home from work sick yesterday and holed up in the spare bedroom.  The builder has hired his son as a labourer over son's university holidays.  They were blasting George FM and the son was educating his dad on the finer points regarding electronica.  Dad didn't have much to contribute, but it seemed like good family bonding, to me. Tabitha sat on the bed with me, unperturbed by the noise.  We had a nap.  Good family bonding, too. 

colonial hangovers

Last night, in my dreams, I attended a very intimate Mariah Carey gig with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West.  Let me tell you right now, my dreams suggest that Mariah's voice has really gone off the boil, but don't tell her that because it does not end well if you do.  Kanye will not lift a finger to help.

It was a disturbed night of sleep.  Kimye and Mariah, Tabitha sleeping between P and I and wriggling, P swatting Cokies who demanded 2am biscuits and the usual onslaught of Guy Fawke's fireworks. 

I have always, always, been afraid of fireworks.  I thought Dad would shoot himself with the double happies when I was small.  Catherine Wheels? Def lose an eye.  At a Christmas party for a part time job I once held, a colleague lit the fireworks with a small handheld blowtorch (he's is still a friend some 10 years on, I'm proud to say, despite his antics).  It could have ended much worse, though the scratches on our co-worker's brand new car (as in, just picked up from the dealership) were awful.  I still love a sparkler, I suppose, but I hate what fireworks do to animals and I think the injury rates are too high to justify the enjoyment. 

Gosh, I hear some saying, what a boring old fart she is.  Or worse: she's supporting a PC nanny state! (The co-opting of 'PC' as an insult and/or a categorical denial of any institutional societal issues really grinds my gears, if that wasn't obvious.)  Get this: if you feel that way, you'll probably be even more riled about another objection to celebrating Guy Fawke's - how bizarre is it that we burn an effigy of a man who tried to blow up a parliament that's not even our own about 400 or so years ago?! So much to unpack there, amirite?

In any case, I think fireworks'll be for public displays only soon, in the land of the long white cloud. 

what's next, gout?

Fresh page, blank slate notwithstanding, my bloggy muse is still AWOL.  Am feeling very stilted on the old blog recently, given I don't tend to write about work, my husband generally (other than, you know, putting up mocking faux-fashion pictures) or details regarding my friends.  Maybe it's just that I'm leading a boring life?  Probably.  I can usually wring a drop of drama or six out of the most innocuous material, so I'll resort to a nice list and see what pops out:

• Summer holiday is mostly organised, including a trip to see the olds, a week at the beach with friends, and a visit from P's mum.  We've also booked a trip to Golden Bay (upper South Island, v remote, hippy heaven) for a wedding in March.  Am feeling good about summer time on the horizon.
• Friend saga.  Friend 1 has been a dick to Friend 2 over a gift that Friend 1, a bunch of other friends and I arranged for Friend 2.  I heartily disapprove of Friend 1's dickish behaviour and dealt with endless email/FB correspondence, including a few calls to other friends myself for sanity! Mother above, how is it that friends can still bring the drama at age 30+? I am actually ashamed of having had any involvement in a squabble at all.  But given I'm not going to parse the details here, you probably don't care much about that at all.  Safe to say: my policy on this sh*t now is: Let's All Calm Down and Have a Glass of Wine.  Actually, that's an excellent policy to apply across the board for me, I'll have it printed on an inspirational fridge magnet in no time.  Watch out Pinterest.*
• Tabitha cat has found an access point to the roof and scares the bejesus out of me on the regular.  She creates massive thumps, and I rush outside to see what's caused the noise, only to realise I'm being watched over the eaves by a furry wee stalker.  Gets me every time and is somehow worse than when I realised I'm being watched during midnight pee trips. 
• HAHAHAHA I jinxed myself with my recent post about musical theatre. Turns out the Sound of Music is coming to town and my sister K is desperate to go.  Mum said no way, on the basis that it won't be as good as the movie, but K pointed out that comparing it unfavourably is half the fun.  I mean, why would you watch the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice otherwise?  So, I'm going back to the theatre for a singalong, goodness help me.
• Weekend: nearly upon us, whew. 
• State of the Chubby Update: fell off the food recording bandwagon hard, but am making better decisions and feeling better about meself generally.  More cups of tea, fewer diet Cokes, no snorting chips before dinner.  Good rules, hey?
• OMG I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TELL YOU: I think I had an attack of gallstones! No, I'm not 90 or a very fat man (the population segment I associate with gallstones)!  The other weekend was spiked with abdominal pain, that started near the bottom of my ribs and worked its way down.  I was achey on and off all weekend, with marginal improvement on the Monday.  After I was palpated by the doctor (ick! palpation! sounds vile, right? Mind you, it could have been worse - she threatened me with a transvaginal scan at one point), she concluded that the likely culprit was gallstones.  I was so ashamed, but did you know that it is actually more common in women?  And that it can be caused by long term oral contraceptive use?  Well, that's what Wikipedia tells me anyway.  I had a blood test/pee test to rule some other stuff out, but they won't know that it was the 'stones for sure unless they do an ultrasound.  Given I'm feeling better, I'm going to flag that, so unless they flare up again, I guess we'll never know.  GALLSTONES.  AM SUFFERING FROM MYSTERIOUS OLD PERSON AILMENT.  SHAME.

*I joined Pinterest in 2011, pinned approximately 3 wedding hairstyles I knew I could never be achieved with my hair, and never looked at it again. I often get so-and-so-is-now-following-you-on-Pinterest! emails, and every time I feel sorry for them, because it must be pretty damn boring.

day in the life, winter 2014

Hi! For those who are new, I am A.  I'm 32, f, married, no kids, 2 cats, from Auckland, New Zealand.  My interests include books, wine, eating things, travelling, making questionable choices, being nosy and writing things about myself on the internet.  I find that DiTL posts fit nicely with the latter of those two interests!

It's Friday 1 August 2014.  It's winter in NZ and a working day for me. 

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5.30am: wake up, but am NOT HAPPY.  Lie in the dark, mentally turning over the questionable choices I made last night.  We were sending off a colleague who is moving to London; predictably, one beer lead to many beers (the pub was going off! I was having a good time! meeting people! gossiping!), lead to Mickey Dees en route home (I am not proud), lead to furry mouth at 5.30am. 

6.15am: finally bring myself to get out of bed.  Shake some bikkies into the cats’ bowls and discover the mess I made filling up the biscuit container when a bit boozled last night.  Turn on the shower.  It’s warmer outside this morning thank god (about 10 degrees celcius) so the bathroom isn’t completely frigid and I can disrobe without squeaking.

6.25am: flick on the kettle, desperate for tea.

THIS IS FIRST-RATE COMPELLING PHOTOJOURNALISM, RIGHT HERE

6.26am: Tabitha hauls in her newest victim through the cat flap.  She has recently graduated to trapping earthworms, crickets being in short supply this time of year.  Not wanting to waste a good worm (or watch Tab torture a worm on my kitchen floor), I don a pair of jandals to deliver the worm to our compost bin outside.  Jandals, dressing gown and no knickers – good thing the neighbouring house is empty at the moment because I am a sight to behold.  I choose not to take a picture of that – count yourself lucky.

 

TABBY AND VICTIM AND THE TERRIBLE STATE OF THE FLOORING IN MY KITCHEN.  AT LEAST WORMS ON AN ALREADY DECREPIT FLOOR AREN'T REALLY A BIG DEAL 

6.30am: flick on the TV to catch some Commonwealth Games coverage while scoffing breakfast and drying my hair etc.  NZ has just won a bronze medal in the Men’s Floor (Gymnastics) and a Gold in the Women’s Time Trial (Cycling) – go Kiwis! The coverage is largely of lawn bowls this morning and it’s not quite as thrilling to follow as, say, 100m sprints or the swimming. 

6.40am: P emerges from the bedroom, grumbling.  As many bad life decisions as I made last night, he made a few more out on the town a bunch of graduates from his office, following a training session he ran for them.  He likes to think he can keep up with a bunch of 23 year olds, but looking at him this morning I have my doubts. 

7.15am: I have managed to dress and make myself mostly presentable.  I am wearing opaque tights, a red silk mullet dress fresh from the drycleaners, a black blazer with a sheer back (sounds very odd when written like that) . P however is struggling to get his stuff together and is yelling for help to find a grey cardigan.  I don’t know where he thinks I might have secretly stashed it, but if it’s not in the drawers or on the wardrobe rack, he’s well out of luck.

OF NOTE: (1) MY HAIR STAYED LIKE THIS UNTIL I WAS APPROX. 5 STEPS OUT MY FRONT DOOR INTO THE FOG.  REST OF DAY HAVE BEEN SHAGGY BEAST.
(2) THE STATE OF THE LIVING ROOM BEHIND ME. THIS IS REAL LIFE, PEOPLE. PEPPER GRINDERS AND ALL.

7.30am: the Great Man Cardi Hunt of 2014 has proved unfruitful and most unsympathetically I throw another sweater at P, telling him to put a sock in it.  We manage to depart the house for work.

7.30-8am: walk to work with P.  He’s on rare form today and, upon hearing about my DiTL post day, he announces ‘Well I’m looking hot today so you should definitely take a picture of me for the internet’.  He raced over to a wall nearby and struck a pose and I nearly died laughing – he thought he was taking the mickey out of magazine styling, but it is so completely fashion blogger I nearly wet my pants. 

I HOPE NONE OF YOU THINK THIS IS FOR SERIOUS. P'S TONGUE IS FIRMLY IN HIS CHEEK - THIS WAS DONE IN A HEARTBEAT AND WE RAN ON, LAUGHING TIL MY FACE HURT.  I'VE ONLY JUST NOW NOTICED ALLTHE CIGGIE BUTTS AT HIS FEET, WHICH MAKES IT EVEN BETTER

8am: arrive at work.  Debrief with my secretary, who was also a party to yesterday evening’s shenanigans.  She lasted longer than I did but is regretting it!

8-10.30: workity work work.  Nothing thrilling, believe you me: drafting, emailing, considering, reviewing. At about 9.45 I get up to go to the printer and realise I have a terrible static situation going on with my dress.  Slip or no slip, it’s a clinger which is just annoying because the colour is so nice (a change from my usual drab wardrobe choices). 

THIS PICTURE IS A FAIL AT ILLUSTRATING CLINGAGE, MOSTLY DEMONSTRATING INCREDIBLY WEIRD BODY SHAPE INSTEAD? IT'S THE ANGLE, I PROMISE! THAT'S NOT A GIANT BOOBSHELF!

10.30: weekly morning tea for the firm with speeches for colleague S, departing to the UK.  Stuff face with a scone, a cheerio (not the cereal, the sausage-y type!), carrot sticks and scarper and take a wee sammie & pie for the road (I don’t eat lunch on Fridays as I usually make a piggy of myself at morning tea).  Tell the firm’s chef I love his work. 

10.45-12.30: more work, until M calls me.  She wants to go for a wander and a smoothie.  We look briefly at cases for our cellphones.  Mine is new and if I don’t get a case, I’ll probably destroy it.  No dice making a purchase though, I want a pretty one!  I order a green smoothie, which I feel good about (if I don’t consider the quantities of frozen yoghurt in it).

WINTER. 

1-5ish: workity working.  Incredibly unproductive this afternoon, however.  Drink at least two cups of tea.

5.10pm: nip upstairs where Friday Night Drinks are happening.  Look at beersies and feel ill.  Say goodbye for the final time to S and depart to meet P to scarper up to Ponsonby Road.  Call my sister K on route, because we have to debrief about the amazing video someone from her hockey team posted on FB in which she is doing the Fat Amy Mermaid for her team's amusement.  So funny, but she's worried her students might see it (she's a high school teacher). 

6pm: Grand Central Bar, Ponsonby.  We're meeting R and PW for drinks pre-dinner.  R has recently been to Austria for work but also managed to spend time in the UK with friends en route so I squeeze her for gossip.  It's warm enough that we're able to sit outside under the heaters and enjoy some fresh air for a change.

A WEE SIGN ON THE EXTERIOR WALL OF THE BAR THAT MADE ME SMILE.

7ish: we get our call from Orphan’s Kitchen, which doesn’t take reservations.  We rush in and order wine and tasty treats.  Highlights included smoked porae with a celeriac and green apple slaw, YUM.  Hipster central - so many good beards and artfully mismatched water jugs.  I love it.  They also have a very tasty wine list, highly recommend. 

9ish: finished with dinner, we wander down the road to Chapel Bar and have another bottle of wine between four, because FRIDAY NIGHT.  PJ and his new girlfriend are supposed to be meeting us but they're still at dinner elsewhere, and are trying to scam us into going to the city for dancing.  We're not quite in that zone!

10.30ish: wave goodbye to R & PW and walk home arm-in-arm with P.  It's about a 15 minute walk, and while I don't remember the conversation, I do remember laughing most of the way home.

10.45: open the door to find Tabby and Cokes on the end of the bed, watching us mournfully.  They forgive me when I fill up their bowls. 

11pm: bed.

i don't generally sing in the shower, at least

My cat watched me have a bath last night. Actually, 'watched' is the wrong word.  She participated in my bath last night.  Strolling up and down the edge of the bath, trying to stand on my thigh to get closer to the water, scooping water with a paw.*  It was endlessly entertaining and I'd show you the photos I took but:

(a) admitting you take your phone in the bath is bad enough, let alone providing pictorial evidence of that tragic habit; and
(b) the photos accidentally included my pubic hair** in the bottom of the picture and I don't think we want that on the internet.

Is it odd that I don't shut her out of the bathroom?  She often comes in during a shower to sit on the end of the tub and wait for me to turn off the water.  At first I found being watched a little creepy but now I find I like the company (always someone to talk to!) and she gets a bit upset if excluded from the bathroom.  I mean, it's not like she's actually sharing the bath or shower with me?***

Hey ho, the descent into sad cat lady continues. 

*We have a southpaw in the house, it's always her left that she scoops with. Or is that because the dominant right is used for balance? I don't know and this probably isn't worth investigating furthe because SHE'S A CAT. Gosh, perspective, A. 
**Yes, I have some.  Now really, is that a surprise to you if you've ever read this blog before?
***Yes, I have conveniently forgotten the time Tabitha poohed in the bathtub.  I'd like to think she's done a lot of maturing since then.

winner winner

I am absolutely owning life, recently. 

Evidence:

• I have at least one fingernail that isn't bitten to the quick.
• The scab on my foot from a tumble in leaf mould on my walk home two weeks ago is nearly healed, leaving me approx. 50% less scabrous.
• I have thought about replacing my seriously old razor blade before I develop tetanus and gone so far as to make a mental note to buy a new one.
• I found my access card for work after a short week of looking.
• My regrowth lends my hair a really 'lived in' feel.
• The ants have moved on to only eating the cats' biscuits off the kitchen floor, after I eradicated every ant found on the kitchen bench.
• Now that my glasses are completely scratched up, I don't notice a difference in quality of vision when I take them off.
• Finding my way to the bottom of the chip packet on the regular has made me extra specially nice to hug.
• The fact that the kitten is sleeping on my face on cold nights demonstrates her trust and love, right?

Actually, there's only one piece of evidence that counts.  That shows I'm a real winner, despite all of the above:

• Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of the day I first kissed P.  P, who loves me anyway.  He's the best.

why hello there

Hello foreign visitors!  Welcome!

I have been feeling guilty - you're all peeking into my terribly staid life in New Zealand and I am offering up no lovely pictures of children or views or activities - in part because I'm not a mother (unless the cats count) and in part because I seek to keep mah blog semi-anonymous.  Also, I am useless at taking pictures. 

Here's a brief intro - probably enough material together to make it apparent exactly who I am!

A: Female, 31, Married, No Kids, Auckland New Zealand, Solicitor.  Lived in New York for a year '09-'10 and in London '10-'12.  Likes: eating and drinking, writing silly/whingy journal-type bits on the internet, travelling, reading, theatre, pottering in backyard, her fambily.  Swears too much but generally has a sunny outlook, even if she does spent a disproportionate number of blogposts whinging.  Generally useless.  SRSLY.

Husband is P.  P likes: wine, whiskey, sports, cooking, travelling, does worky things at work and has a wicked sense of humour.  I broke his nose one time in the middle of the night.

Hometown is Auckland.  City of about 1.5 million, full of traffic jams, beaches, dormant/extinct volcanoes and weather that makes A's hair crazy.  Subtropical, so it rains a bit - temps year round between 0 and 30 degrees celcius.  Kiwis like to wear black, jandals (flipflops), say 'yeah nah' because even if we disagree, we can't be too rude about it, watch/play sports, eat fish and chips, drink beersies, and go to the beach.  We have horrific accents (somewhere between an Aussie and generic-British accent, very flat vowel sounds) and talk incredibly fast. 

Cats are Tabitha and Cocoa. They are SPCA moggies who are cute. 

Um, that's all I think?  Nice to meet you. 

day in the life, autumn 2014

23 April 2014: Autumn, Auckland, New Zealand. 

(Once again, a disclaimer: I am dull.  Also, very few pictures as I spent the bulk of the day with work colleagues.  If you don't have a taste for wordy blatherings and extremely poor quality photographs, I'd stop here.)

******************************************

5.45: roll over, eyeball clock, sigh.  I woke up from a terrible dream about my Granny, which involved lashings of guilt and, inexplicably, picking up bacon at the supermarket.  Flop onto my back, start scrolling through FB on phone.  Even though I don't need to get up for another 15 to 30 minutes, if I go back to sleep now I'll be a wreck when I wake.  P slumbers on, peacefully. 

6.10: drag myself out of bed to feed the cats and have a shower.  Disturb Tabitha, who had been curled up beside me, bushed after a night of exciting antics - the cat door allowed her to go outside at night for the first time.  Cocoa is AWOL.  We feel pretty confident that old Cokes can manage himself round the 'hood now (please don't let those be famous last words) as he's sauntering out for a couple of hours at a time during the day and evening, coming home when he's hungry and/or hot and/or wet and/or fancies a cuddle.

6.30: earl grey tea and a breakfast of canned peaches and muesli. It feels virtuous but is probably packed with sugar.

6.45: floating around the house aimlessly, starting to get ready (black pleated sleeveless dress, black belt, black cardigan, black tights for the first time this autumn, black stud earrings. WOE I am so BORING wearing the standard NZ black ensemble).

6.46: OH NO had forgotten work trip to Christchurch this afternoon.  Hastily grab bag and throw in a change of underwear, make up, essential toiletries, phone charger, blue striped suit and black top.  The suit'll get terribly crushed in the bag but decide I don't have time to find anything with less crumple-factor. 

AT LEAST SOMEONE GETS A SLEEP IN.  JEAL.

7.15: the car won't start.  P has an 8am meeting and a dinner with friends planned for after work, so we intended to drive into town this morning.  The flipping car however has different plans and I freak for a moment, wondering what new and exciting way I've found to drain the battery, as the last suspect to be behind the wheel (and a suspect with battery-draining form, at that).  P is sure it's not the battery though so I may be off the hook - there's been a spate of gas thefts nearby over previous months, so it could be a cut line?  No time to find out now - we need to leave if we're walking.

7.30: huffing and puffing up the hill, hauling my bag, P striding ahead sending emails on his blackberry regarding tardiness.  The sun's out this morning, despite the crispness in the air.  P's iPhone tells him it's only 12 degrees celcius outside, but I don't believe it.  I've thrown on a light floral scarf and even that's proving too hot for the walk.

7.33: P spots the free bus that runs down Queen St.  We run for it and nab a seat to head down the hill to save P a minute or two.

7.50: I arrive at work and contemplate my inbox.  Gah, horrific.

7.55: TEA.  Cannot face inbox without tea.

GLORIOUS DAY OUT THE WINDOW.  DON'T LET THE CALCULATOR FOOL YOU, I DON'T DO NUMBERS. 

8.05: check in to flights for today and tomorrow online.  MUST REMEMBER TO PRINT BOARDING PASS.

10.20: text message my sister K, who is in the throes of a protracted house purchase negotiation.  Late last night she told the agent she'd think about the vendor's final offer overnight and respond in the morning.  I ask her what the story is; but she's only just got up and hasn't called the agent yet (school holidays, she's a teacher).  I don't know why she's now dragging it out - she's totally going to accept the offer.  I've seen her run through the gamut over the past few days: uncontrollable nervousness, uncontrollable excitement, disbelief at counter offer, sly negotiation, expectation management, despondence, and finally, power tripping?  She's a cracker, that kid (who may be 30 but will forever be a kid to me). 

10.47: More tea, please.

12.35: ack, close to being late! Call cab, round up colleague M.  M is the reason I have this job - she and I met at our hall of residence and flatted together for four years during university while studying.  On my return to Auckland she passed my CV to my boss, knowing that I'd like working with him because she and I worked so well together as undergraduates.  It's been awesome having a friend like M in the workplace. 

1.20: arrive at airport.  I briefly mourn the sunny, muggy day - Christchurch is going to be cooooooold, wish I didn't have to leave!

1.22 bag check, reprint boarding pass as I'd forgotten that I did in fact print my online check in.  Worse, get tapped on the shoulder two minutes later as I'd left the boarding pass on the kiosk.  Hopeless. 

1.30: M looks at me slyly after checking in and suggests we eat the forbidden fruit for lunch prior to takeoff: McDonalds.  It hit the spot and the remorse is only minor today.  Wickedness is so much more fun with an accomplice. 

2.10: take off.  M and I have packed materials to work on a presentation we're giving together in May.  However, temptation to use next hour and a half to gossip proves too great and the presentation remains untouched. 

3.45: plane lands in Christchurch a little late.  We hustle to meet our boss from the Wellington office and grab a cab to visit the client.

4 - 6.15: meeting with client.  Out the window of the meeting room, the giant sky (Canterbury always seems so flat to me, with an enormous sky) is fading quickly and you can feel the chill set in.

6.15: Another cab, driving through the dark streets of central Christchurch to check in and drop off our bags at the hotel. 

7: arrive at Saggio di Vino for a meal with clients.  I had a really lovely time with M, Wellington Boss and two clients, chatting and eating tasty things, including but not limited to: beef carpaccio (is the beef redundant?  do you automatically assume carpaccio is beef?), terakihi with lemon beurre blanc on a bed of sauteed leek and tiny pieces of grapefruit, Dog Point pinot noir and gooey cheese.

10.45: back at the hotel and realise I've forgotten the plug for my charger.  Borrow one from reception and discover bulk messages waiting on my phone.  Sister K's bought her first house! Cocoa is home safe! Friend A is pregnant! Call K and P for a quick chat with each. 

PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE FROM P THAT COKES IS HOME SAFE.  SEE THE SLIGHTLY EVIL EXPRESSION? THE NEXT DAY I ARRIVED HOME TO FIND A PILE OF CAT BARF ON THAT VERY SPOT ON MY BED.

11.30: fumble around the hotel remotes attempting to turn on the heat pump.  The hotel room has steadily decreased in temperature - its 6 or 7 degrees celcius outside which this sub-tropical Aucklander finds chilly. 

11.45: return hotel charger.  Climb into bed and feel terribly naughty - I'm sleeping on P's side!  Out to the count almost immediately. 

domesticated / feral

State of the M family cats: still stuck indoors while Cocoa gets used to the joint, and A gets over her phobia of anything horrid happening to either of them in future. 

I feel for them as they're busting to explore the great outdoors, but they'll be housebound for another week or two.  I'm still moderately weepy over Timothy (I found the last pictures of him on my camera two days ago and sobbed, but I don't see his wee furry body in my mind's eye every time I look at Tab any more).  As wrong as it seems to coup them up because I'm feeling fragile, I think we really need to ensure that Cocoa knows where home is.  There's been the occasional supervised excursion, but I find it pretty stressful.  Particularly when Cocoa makes a bolt towards a main road. 

Tabitha is a delight, completely adorable.  Can't say more than that.  Cokes is settling in, I think.  His coat is improving, he's tolerating gentle brushing and is a pretty smoochy boy.  They're starting to play together, savaging stuffed mice and scragging bits of string. 

I discovered that the Purple Palace is also playing host to another form of wildlife, earlier this week.  There were ANTS on the kitchen wall.  ANTS. I went on a RAMPAGE of ant destruction.  Don't get me wrong, I felt bad about snuffing out life, but I cannot handle having ants in our small, dysfunctional, aeons-old kitchen.  I can handle it's 1940s styling and space most of the time, but I cannot abide being infested by insects.  That's my bottom line.  I suspect I may have won the battle this week; it's yet to be seen whether I've won the war.  Wish me luck.

he's still gone

All the avoidance in the world hasn't changed things, Timmy is still gone.  We've been showering Tabby with love and keeping her largely indoors; til she's older and Cocoa is allowed to roam free, we tell ourselves.

We buried Tim in the garden.  I laughed and sobbed as we had to pull up the rest of the misshapen and stunted carrot crop to make space for him.  Eventually, we'll plant a tree for him.  I worry that he's too close to the back fence, that the neighbour's dogs will bother him.  Then I remember he's dead, and I cry.  I pegged out washing nearby this weekend, with Tabby in and around my feet, and I remembered how much he enjoyed smooching my ankles while I folded or shook out garments as necessary.  I love that cat.  I loved that cat.

I've been keeping a cautious distance from Cocoa, not yet ready to commit, given events transpired so shortly after his arrival.  He has a terrible infestation of fleas and this morning pooped under the table, so it was easy to be a bit distant.  In fairness, Cocoa is not thrilled at being kept indoors after eight or so years of having unfettered external access and I believe the poop incident was a clear communication that he's not happy with the current state of affairs.  Even if I disagree with the mode of expression, I can appreciate a cat so clearly committed to taking a stance.  We'll get there. 

It's amazing, isn't it, that the short passage of a couple of months has wrought so much change in my formerly responsibility-free lifestyle.  When my boss asked if I was ok the morning after, I dissolved into tears, apologised for being unprofessional and exclaimed I couldn't believe I feel like this about a cat.  But I do and it is what it is.  I wouldn't take back having adopted Timothy for anything. 

new arrival

Cocoa the cat arrived late last night, after J's memorial service.  My MIL dropped him off after an hour's drive back from what was likely a long day.  I hope we've relieved her of at least one worry.

Cocoa's stress levels weren't too bad; he's in the dining room, shut off from the purrymouses who were last seen this morning avidly watching the door.  However, he seems very keen for human company and I feel awfully guilty that we're out of the house today.  Each time we enter the room, he leaps out of the bottom shelf of the bookcase where he's been hiding behind the books and deposits himself in our laps, arching, kneading, purring, trying desperately to vocalise a breathy miaow.  (You know we've provided him with plenty of safe, dark, soft hidey-holes, right?  But he's chosen the bookcase instead.)  I'm pretty sure he hasn't used the litterbox yet though so there must be some deal of aggravation for the poor puss.  Besides which, our whole house must stink of the purrymouses to him.  My MIL will visit him during the day today, thank goodness. 

Three cats in one house suddenly feels like a lot.  We're glad to give Cocoa a home and it'll be only a month or so until he's likely to be settled, but just at the moment I can't believe cats have taken over my existence so rapidly. 

Thinking of J each time I look at her cat with his long, black fur and large green/yellow eyes. 

frosty wife, frigid life

Having onions in your lunch is always a risky decision.  Just so you know to avoid my office this afternoon, in case you were thinking about dropping by. 

So, the Great Housework Debacle of 2014 has reached a frozen denouement.  P tried valiantly to engage me in neutral conversation yesterday, followed by lots of little touches (e.g. running his hand over my lower back whenever he walked past). He fairly rapidly realised the frosties weren't going away any time soon.  This morning he said he was sorry and hugged it out, which was a bit like hugging a board, really (albeit a board with a quite a bit of excess adipose tissue - I'm squishy even when I'm cross).  While I'm pretty sure he was internally qualifying his sorry six ways from Sunday - just saying it to get the fight finished and to appease me before announcing we've got dinner with the in-laws tonight, a fact he'd previously neglected to mention - I think I'm going to magnanimously accept the gesture and move on.  I'm usually the one who'll do anything for the sake of peace, so I think that's probably fair. Also, he's kind of nice when he's not being a dick.

Kitten update, you say? OH GO ON THEN I WILL. 

Timothy: not his usual shining self, Timothy has been hiding under the bed and feeling a bit under the weather, I think.  He has also point blank refused how to learn to use the cat door properly and insists that we open it for him.  Wee Tim is no longer so wee; he's starting to grow into his enormous paws.  He's no longer chewing wires (whew).  He loves to sleep between P and I and press his face into ours with purring sound effects as he resettles in the night.  I love it. 

Tabitha: a wicked, naughty bundle of fun.  She's brilliant and I love her.  She knows how to use the cat door but only when she feels like it.  We've taken to naming all the cat toys variations on 'Tabby's baby': Tabby's mouse baby, Tabby's crack baby (the latter being a catnip mouse that sends her crazy - one minute she's snuggling, the next she's savaging her baby like she desperately needs to get at the good stuff inside). She sleeps under the bed or in the spare room, leaping up at about 6am to see if I'm awake enough to get her biscuits yet.

I'm fully aware, thank you, that I sound hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when I talk about my cats.  In all honesty, I probably am hormonal, obssessive and just a touch pathetic when it comes to my cats.  At least I'm frank with my weblog?

(Except when I'm not.  I'm partial to a bit of revisionist history, from time to time.)

where i have been / more cat news

Ack.  I joined an internet thing, met lots of nice people, and then vanished off the face of the earth for nearly two weeks.  Awesome work, A. 

In my defence, I was working and the working thing was not my fault.  Boss people, with all their demands and their 'we pay you a salary' thing, right? I know.  Horrific.  Can't believe I'm supposed to deal with this for the next 30 odd years.  When do I get to retire, please?

(Yes.  Am Entitled and Awful, I know.)

Aaaaaanyway, I spent some of this week working in Christchurch.  Christchurch is still recovering from a series of earthquakes the effect of which I find difficult to put into words, given that the newsmedia has just about destroyed the impact of 'devastating' or 'catastrophic'.  I drank tea from a makeshift cafe in a shipping container in a carpark while I was there, and it was great.  Christchurch has an almost indomitable feeling to it - the CBD is still largely empty, but there's action there, if you look hard enough.  Christchurch was also sunny and warm and not humid (Auckland, I'm giving your humidity some serious side-eye right now.  Don't make me move to the South Island, yo.  You know I'd have better hair there, right?)

In other cat news, my slide down the slippery slope to crazy-cat-lady-ness has gathered momentum.  We are rehoming a cat named Cocoa, who was adopted some years ago by my mother-in-law and her flatmate of the time, J.  When my MIL moved to Germany for work, J retained custody of dear old Cocoa, who is a dark cocoa-coloured (!) fluffy number with no voice.  J has not been well for the last few years and we received the bad news that she is now receiving respite care at the hospice.  The least we can do in the circumstances is to provide Cocoa with a new home, though we do so with a heavy heart.  It's very hard to acknowledge that J won't be home again.

In the space of a month, therefore, P and I have gone from a no-pet family to a family of five.  It's going to be a fairly traumatic move for Cocoa, who we're picking up from Hamilton on Tuesday.  We'll be keeping her in the spare bedroom for a while and buttering her paws, but if you have any other suggestions for helping Cocoa acclimate to her new home, I'd love to hear them.  Timmy and Tab will be kept apart from Cocoa but they'll be able to smell each other and swipe paws under the door.  We're hopeful that since the Terrormouses are still only 14 weeks old, they'll be young enough that they'll accept Cocoa quickly and with any luck, she them. 

So, it's a very bittersweet time at the A+P household (no pun intended - seriously, no pun intended, I just can't find a better word).  We're happy to have this old puss, but so sad that she's coming to us in these circumstances. 

things what i drank + enjoyed, recently

I had to go to work on Auckland Anniversary day.  Hence a post in order to whinge, basically.  At least it's warm in the office today, given that there's no aircon?

(I'm sweating my face off, in other words).

Enough whining. 

More wine-ing instead please!  Wines I have slurped this weekend:

- On Friday: P cracked open a bottle of pinot noir we bought at a tasting some seven years ago - oh man, that ages us!  We were the youngest people at the tasting, I promise. I wish I could remember the name so you can take the recc, but after a couple of gins and half a bottle of pinot while wandering after kittens in the garden and then watching Federer/Nadal at the Aussie Open, my recall ain't so good.  Also, I am old.  These things happen.  Bloody delicious, in any case.

- Saturday: Kim Crawford Pansy during the cricket.  Not the tastiest rose in the world, but great name and wonderful for a hot evening.  Serve chilled, but not too cold. 

- Sunday: Morton Estate IQ7 sparkling.  This was delicious and is a steal in NZ supermarkets at the moment, I highly recommend it.  Also, I quite like drinking Morton Estate because they have a vineyard right down the road from my mum and dad.  There is a lovely sign that uses river stones to say 'Morton Estate' on a slight rise as you approach the vineyard.  Some clever clogs pinched the stones from the T in that sign once, and I giggle every time we drive past or pick up a bottle from their cellar door (which in fact is miles away on SH22 near Katikati, where my grandparents used to live. Yes, I can find my way around the North Island by vineyard navigation, sadly).

And yes, I am a terrible boozehound who feels guilty but HOLIDAY WEEKEND I deserve it, right?! (Please validate me.  Please)

Hey, how's that for some lifestyle blogging?  If your lifestyle is wine-soaked, that is.  OH, WAIT, I NEED A PICTURE to support this review:

LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

ALSO, SEE WHAT I DID THERE? GRATUITOUS KITTY PIC FEATURING WINE.  SHAME ABOUT MY HULK-HAND

the bathroom is the logical place, i suppose

I've got a burning desire to write something...profound.  Shame I haven't got any source material, so light bullshit it is.  And I do mean that literally; read on, dear reader.

I have a beef with Tabitha, Kitten-in-Chief of Mischief, Mayhem and Pooing in the Bathtub.

You may have guessed what the beef is, by now.  Scene: A's bathroom, 6.20am.  Our shower is a head over an old, shallow enamel bathtub, with various chips and cracks.  It has a white rayon shower curtain that is looking a little tatty in places, as I throw it through the washing machine on a semi-regular basis.  I am merrily showering away, when I see the outline of a little furry body on the edge of the bath through the curtain.  How cute! says I.  Tab or Timothy has come to visit while I'm in the bathroom.  They must love me! says I.

I turned the shower off, opened the curtain.  Tabitha immediately leaps into the tub.  Brave kitty, says I.  Timmy jumped in recently and freaked when he discovered the tub was wet.  Timmy required saving.  Tab immediately puts her nose to the base, gives it a lick, squats and hey presto! poohs in the bottom. 

She looked at me like 'yeah? and?'

And that is how, dripping wet and clad only in a towel, I found myself handling faeces before breakfast.

GLAMOROUS.

a day in the life

I am joining a thing.  Look at me, being all join-y and internet-y and what not!  This is a first!

Laura from Navigating the Mothership is hosting a Day in the Life thing and she's specially invited foreigners.  I am foreign to North American types (kia ora! welcome to internet Aotearoa, visitors!  Internet Auckland, specifically) but other than that I am about to flout all Laura's fine print and skip the hardcore photography because, well, I'm lazy and vaguely trying to maintain some anonymity up in here.  Also, Laura says she doesn't mind that I am not a Mom (or a Mum, for that matter), but I'm not sure whether she minds that my cat-obsessed work-a-day life is dull.  If you haven't been to this wee blog before, consider yourself warned. (Also, disclaimer: I am profane, vulgar and excessively parenthetical/wordy.  Annoying, basically). 

THIS IS ME, A.  NOT ON THE DAY IN QUESTION.  BUT SO YOU KNOW I AM REAL.  AND SO YOU KNOW AM 31 AND STILL HAVE SPOTS

So.  Knock yourselves out, guys.  A day in the life of A. 

__________________________________________________

5.30am: wake up needing to pee.  I'm supposed to get up at 6, so I am furious that my body needs to leave the warm bed cocoon before then.  Drag myself to the toilet, get fright at standing on black toy mouse in the dark.

6am: five more minutes in bed, please. Checking facebook, extremely important stuff.

6.05am: Throw on a dressing gown and go into the dining room to wake and feed the kittens.  The dining room is their current abode until they're big enough to partake of the great outdoors when they're a bit older.  We don't have a laundry or a bathroom big enough to house the litter box sadly, so there'll be no dinner parties for us until the cat-faeces-in-the-dining-space issue has been solved (i.e. once the cat door is in and they're pooping outside).  One of Tabitha's eyes has partially gummed shut in the night due to the cat flu, so I take her carefully in my arms and apply the corner of a moistened piece of toilet paper to soften up the crust.  Poor wee Tab, she must feel like the only time we hold her at the moment is when we're punishing her with eye wipes, eye drops and antibiotics. 

6.10am: Shower.  Hum to myself my wee shower song: "Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Don't wanna get out of the shower! Out of the shower! Out of the shower!' (Have I mentioned I'm kind of a morning person? Yep. Annoying.)

6.15: Get out of the shower in a raging hurry despite song when I spot a spider.  It was a Daddy Long Legs - i.e. completely harmless but rational I am not when it comes to creepy crawlies.  Yell for P to sort out the bathroom wildlife.

6.20am: stand in my underwear in front of the clothes rail (nope, still no wardrobes or indeed any damn cupboards in this godforsaken ancient cottage) bemoaning the lack of things to wear.  Eventually throw on a black skirt and a grey short sleeved top with a little black scottie dog print.  Notice food stain on skirt and think 'must remember to wipe that off'.  Throw on standard work jewellery - watch, wedding rings, white gold band on my right hand and super cheap wee black and brass triangle studs in my (giant, lobular) ears.  Strike a pose for P who dutifully informs me I look very nice.  He's a well-trained liar.

6.25am: Marmite on Vogel's toast and Earl Grey tea.  Breakfast of champions.  Tabitha wants a bite but no such luck, puss.

6.30: P emerges from the bedroom and into the bathroom.  The resounding call of 'I don't wanna!' from him eventually morphs into the gentle refrain of the shower song (he doesn't want to get out, either, apparently).  I start trying to brush my hair, apply make up (minimal at best - concealer, eye liner and a coat of mascara, plus a spritz of Chance by Chanel), pack my bag, empty the litter box, refresh the cats' water etc in a timely manner.  I keep getting interrupted by playful swatting from Timothy, who appears to be developing a foot fetish. 

6.45am: We are running around tidying in a frenzy, as we've just recalled a wardrobe lady is coming to measure up our bedroom.

7.10: P is not fully dressed.  Wardrobe lady is due.  I walked into the bedroom and had to cry "Husband, where ARE your pants?!".  I enjoyed it; not often enough do I get the opportunity to say that.  

7.15: Wardrobe lady arrives.  Timothy promptly tries to eat her skirt.  When diverted from that attack, he demonstrates his very best pouncing skills on the duvet while she works.

7.30: Wardrobe lady finishes, we medicate Tabby and depart for work.  The walk to the central city is about half an hour for me; 40 minutes for P who works down on the waterfront.  We attempt to hold hands but the weather is pretty humid and quickly we give up as it's a bit sweaty.  My colleague S often passes us on his scooter en route and has been merciless to me about how 'cute' we still are, holding hands all these years later  (he smirks).  I don't really care, as when I hold P's hand, I get his full attention.  We discuss the Big Day Out (festival-concert-type-situation) which we're attending on Friday.  I'm quite upset about the clash between Pearl Jam and Snoop Dog.  I have very eclectic 90s taste, apparently.

8am: arrive at work, change into lady-lawyer shoes.  Sigh at state of shoes; I need some new ones as my favourites have lost their heel stops and the patent leather is pretty battered.  Consider whether I can colour the scuffs with a black vivid (marker pen, for the non-NZers) but decide that the damage is too severe.  Quick check of papers online, another cup of tea.  Then work-y stuff.

8.30am: already freezing. I am still wearing winter wardrobe items to work because it's so ridiculously cold in here, despite the relatively temperate summer we're having.  Also because I am too cheap to have purchased new season items.  Throw on a black blazer and shiver at my desk, while gazing out wistfully at the sunshine over the harbour. 

10am: coffee with the girls from work.  'Going for coffee' is a misnomer - I'm off the demonsauce and have a chai latte instead.  Everyone else orders a flat white.  We gossip.  I manage to resist the siren call of the toasted banana bread - must. demonstrate. willpower. as this Christmas weight is not shifting itself. 

12.30pm: lunch at a Japanese restaurant with two friends; sounds nice but I ordered terribly boring food - teriyaki chicken, green tea and a diet coke.  So much for food restraint.  We gossip. Look down as I leave, had completely forgotten the old food stain on my skirt. Am unhygienic, awfully presented person.  Run into another friend recently returned from a stint living in London as I depart the restaurant and promise her a catch up soon.  I trust I'll dress myself in clean clothes for that encounter, but there's no guarantees.

1.30: arrive back to the office to discover voicemail from my mother, claiming she's calling on official business.  Rue the day I gave her my business card and quickly call her back.  She wants to know how the grandcats are and to tell me about the new rock wall she's planning to build with Dad.  Quick convo, then more work. 

4pm ish: an email from P arrives: 'I'm not going to be early tonight.'

5.15pm: Escape the office at this absolutely unheard of hour with not nearly enough billables recorded - because my wee Tabitha needs me!  Power walk home, crushing candy en route.  I nearly walk into a tree because the candy crushing is swallowing my attention.  Hide my face from any sniggering pedestrians or drivers and until the flushed cheeks die down.  I am a notorious tomato-face and it takes a while.

5.45pm: arrive home to wipe wee Tibby's eyes again.  Play with the kittens and graze out of the fridge - nibbling on left over cauliflower from last night's delicious venison meal made by P.  Chores - litter box cleaning, throwing work skirt into the washing basket, cat feeding, ignoring my work emails, halfhearted toilet cleaning in preparation for P's friend P2's visit.  P2 is coming to stay for the BDO as he lives out of town.

CANNOT RESIST THESE SLIGHTLY EVIL BUT OH-SO-CUTE FACES.  TAB (L) AND TIM (R), PLOTTING WICKEDNESS

7pm: start preparing dinner.  We're having spaghetti bolognese for no other reason than some mince in the fridge is about to expire and I cannot for the life of me be bothered being more original.  I slice onions and garlic carelessly while Tabby twines her wee self around my ankles.  I look mournfully at a delicious, empty bottle of pinot noir we drank earlier in the week that I haven't yet deposited in the recycling.  After the excesses of summer holidays 2013/14, I need a break from the turps and am trying to go booze free three or more nights a week again.  I resist temptation, but probably only because the pinot's gone and all the tonic is flat. 

7.15pm: the landline rings.  I race for it, as the only people who have that number are my mother and sister-in-law.  Sadly, it's a guy claiming to be from Microsoft, having had a report of issues with our computer, could I please confirm its serial number?  Ah, that would be a no.  I get my snootiest lady-lawyer voice on while informing him that I have never given that number to Microsoft and that I've just googled his scam so could he please go fuck himself.  Except I didn't really say that last part, I just wish I had.  I hung up instead.

Continue pootling around preparing dinner.  I've flicked the TV on in the background and am listening to NZ's longest running soap, Shortland Street, in the background.  I used to be an avid Shortie fan, once upon a time, but once I moved in with P he used his power of veto on Shortie in the house.  Similarly, I give side-eye to any of his fishing shows, so I guess it balances out.  However, he's not home tonight and it's kind of soothing, hearing TK have yet another marriage crisis and the nurses deal with yet another emergency.  I am also reading blogs on my phone, while stirring the pot mindlessly. 

7.30:  Duck in and out of the house, snipping some herbs for use in the spagbol.  There is no beef stock left which is irritating, as dinner won't be fab without it.  We need to have another stock making day: I adore the results but by god it makes the house smell vile, so I have mixed feelings about stock production. 

7.45pm: I hear a key in the door - P is much earlier than expected.  The kittens race for the door to greet him (for which, read: try to escape while the front door is open).  I give him a hug, he goes to change and we yell at each other down the corridor, exchanging gossip for the day while I cook.

8pm: we give Tib her medicine (it's a two person job, the wee wriggler), then wash hands before dinner.  We eat on the couch, given the dining room/cat situation.  We're both pretty vacant, work having been reasonably stressful for both of us today, so we mindlessly take in more television.

8.30pm: P commences clean up duty.  I wander in and out of the kitchen, halfheartedly drying a few dishes, but I'm not very helpful really.  I am the chief dishwasher of the house and I am feeling pretty resentful about it today, though I generally don't mind.  P suggests playing the new Arcade Fire album, as we're seeing them at the BDO, but I feel like quiet.  It's unusual for me to have such a long evening available - my departure time from work is usually much later, and I'm revelling in the time and space. 

I MIGHT BE BIASED, BUT AOTEAROA HAS THE BEST SUNSETS.  SURE, SANTORINI IS NICE.  BUT NZ? BEST.
(SRSLY, NO FILTERS ON THIS ONE)

9pm: start texting my similarly cat-obsessed sister as I play with the kittens.  I've given them access to the heretofore off-limits spare bedroom, where Tabitha has discovered herself in the mirror.  She keeps noticing another cat pouncing on cords in the mirror, then checking behind it to find out where that cat is.  Hilarious.

9.30pm: my quiet mood has taken a turn; I feel groggy and hot.  It's turned into a humid summer night.  Decide to go to bed.  Climb in and get pounced on by Timothy.  I take a picture of Timmy's eerie eyes stalking me from the bottom of my bed to send to sister K.  P's still up and about, so the kittens haven't been banished to their bedroom yet.  Usually, I wind down with an audiobook or a hard copy book, but tonight I feel pretty manky, so it's lights out.

10pm: P climbs in beside me.  I wake from a doze, briefly, to burrow into his side and drape a hot arm around him.  Out like a light. 

[Author's note: I have just reread this and am sure you will be shouting 'what a grandma! and just where is your exercise, woman?!'.  I am also blushing at the shameful amount of television I consume on a weekday and the woeful admissions regarding general adult beverage consumption.  Wow, am I good at turning an exercise in recording my life for posterity into self-flagellation or what?!]

an enthralling retelling of my weekend

It is Monday and what do you know?  It does get better.  Leaving the kittens today was easier as they now have the run of the house and Tabitha's eye no longer gets sealed shut.  She's much better, thanks for asking.  Timothy is now a little sneezy and is also on the antibiotics.

That's basically what I did this weekend, by the by.  Spent quality time with my kittens, introducing them to the great outdoors and snuggling with them in the morning.  I woke up from a doze on Saturday morning to find Timothy asleep in the crook of my arm and Tabitha on my chest, little furry face pressed up against mine. 

[Don't you worry that P has been relegated to the bottom of the pack; he's loving it and is by no means at the bottom of the pecking order.  I mean, he has purchased and is in charge of doling out the cat treats.]

In other non-cat news, we went to the Big Day Out on Friday.  I am really not feeling into a recap or dissection of the day, so in brief: Ladi 6, awesome (J + I agreed, v. sexy), Pearl Jam, nostalgic, Major Lazer, insane + hilarious, Arcade Fire, glittery etc etc etc.  There were a lot of queues which took the shine off a bit, and I felt a wee bit old for it all at points, sad to say.  But then again, I hope I never get over standing under the stars in a press of people, singing my heart out to songs I've loved for years because that bit was truly awesome. 

Given Friday's excesses, most of the weekend was sort of recovery-ish.  We did a spot of gardening, ate brunch (Salta on the Three Lamps end of Ponsonby Road, highly recommended btw.  I mean, the barista complimented my t-shirt! Given I looked like a sack of crap - said t-shirt was a nasty reminder of Christmas weight - I was simultaneously beyond thrilled and a little suspicious of the compliment), hung with my sister watching cricket.  Quite nice, really.

only slightly puss-ish

Tabitha update: wee Tib still has very gummy eyes and the sneezles, but takes her medicine like a champ and doesn't appear to hold it against us.  Unless she's plotting an elaborate revenge in her spare time, which would not surprise me in the least, having been the victim of a stealth bed-pouncing yesterday evening.  Timothy Terror Cat does not plot elaborate revenge; I believe he acts more on the spur of the moment.  He launched a surprise attack on my naked thigh last night as I was standing in an opportune place.  If you've ever had four little paws of claws dug into your exposed flesh, I'm sure you'll be recoiling with prickly, sharp pain memories.  He is so very lucky he's cute.  He also tried to chew the skirt of the wardrobe installation lady this morning as she breezed past him.  Opportunist, indeed.

Well, that provides a nice segue into  other things what are happening in my life.  Not much, really, but we have had people in to eyeball our bedroom and quote for wardrobe installation.  As a result of those conversations, I'm reconsidering my decision not to purchase some $200-$300 laminate piece of crap from an Ikea order site in NZ. (Diversion: WHY do we not have Ikea here?  I want Swedish meatballs (pref not horsemeatballs, but that's only cos some of my best friends are equine) and Ektorp and Billy and all of the other improbably-named furniture / homewares as well, STAT.) 

Wardrobes seem very expensive and the crappy gib board in our room needs replacing, repainting, the whole shebang, so perhaps this isn't a well-thought out plan.  I should probably reiterate that whole cash thing because I have been hemorrhaging money over the holidays, what with trips and meals and wine and whatnot.  My mortgage is not visibly reducing this summer which I find stressful in the extreme.  P has announced that 2014 is the year for me to take charge of our finances so we can achieve the mortgage-payment goals that I have in mind.  This is all very well and good - we all know how I feel about being in charge of things, I think - but, as I observed at the time, unless and until P renounces the joint credit card there will be no goddamn extra money to apply to our scarily enormous debt. 

Wow, I am boring. 

this is now a cat blog

When I arrived home last night, Tabitha's left eye had gummed shut with discharge.  The guilt factor shot through the roof; unsticking her eyelid with a little water and a soft cloth all the while apologising to MAH PRESHUS BAYBEE left me stricken.  I booked a vet appointment for this morning and it transpires my poor wee Tib has the cat flu.  She's in the early stages - conjunctivitis and the first sneezes this morning.  I suspect that Timothy will have also been infected by now so I envisage a similar visit for Timothy Terror Cat sometime soon.  In the interim, Tabby needs eye cream and antibiotics administered on the regular.  Woe, leaving her today was twice as hard.

While she was clearly unwell, she wasn't so sick that a three hour rumble with her brother wasn't on the cards last night.  In the interests of fairly blogging the minutiae of my kitties' lives and personalities (I am a good Mummy Blogger), Tabby interrupted the fight only to get nosy when we were in the kitchen or dining room doing something with human food.  She hasn't yet managed to score a taste of this good smelling stuff (steak last night) but she clearly has a feeling that she's into whatever we're eating.  Whereas Tim could care less; he's into whatever electronics we're using.  He's already effectively applied a paw to move the screen on an iphone, discovered the CD eject button on the laptop and the on button for the playstation.  All by accident, of course; I'm not claiming Tim is some kind of genius cat (I mean, he licks his own bum for fun), but he displays an interest in chewing cords that is well beyond his age, I think. 

I really did not predict the depth of my reaction to these two wee kittens.  I am obsessed.  I have conversations PLURAL about the contents of the litter tray, for fuck's sake.  Are my hormones doing a number on me or am I a saddo cat lady with no other conversation?  A little of Column A, a little of Column B perhaps? 

i am a cat lady

So help me jeebers, I'm obsessed with my babies, adopted last week from the SPCA. 

TIMOTHY SNOOZING.
OH MY GOD I JUST CAN'T EVEN LOOK AT THIS WITHOUT MELTING.
ALSO, I PROMISE I AM ACTUALLY WEARING PANTS IN THAT PICTURE, CONTRARY TO THE GENERAL IMPRESSION.

TIMOTHY (FOREGROUND) AND TABITHA, TAKING A BREAK AFTER DOING THEIR BEST TO DEMOLISH THE NEW COUCH.  I LOVE THEM SO MUCH I FORGIVE THEM THEIR SOFT-FURNISHING -RELATED TRESPASSES.

OH MAN, I wish I could post it here but you know what is better than a kitten in my lap picture?  A kitten curled up with my husband picture! Mutual naps were the business and I got out of control with the camera.  These are two from my phone - the 50mm lens on the DSLR took a BEATING over the past few days. 

I teared up leaving them all by themselves this morning ('is this what parents who return to work after parental leave feel?', I sobbed to P, 'But those parents don't leave their babies alone with just water, litter, toys, bedding and biscuits.  Where is our nanny?! I feel so GUILTY'.)

Gosh, I've triggered the guilt again, they're all by THEMSELVES right NOW and the tears are welling.  I am a sentimental mess, but surely I can't be blamed?  I mean, I'm in the heady throes of a new relationship.  That stage where you can't think about anything else, you want to discuss it with everyone you see and your heart bursts out of your chest when you lay eyes on the objet d'amour.  Kittens: all it took to take the sarcastic veneer from my heart, apparently.