38 & 3

It's the crack of dawn on Sunday and I am pleased because I managed to stay asleep until after 5am.  The cats are thrilled I got up; the bikkie bowl is now full.

I sleep best before midnight, assuming no reflux, then the parade of toilet trips and resettling starts. Too many naps might have something to do with it, too. I resent the implication the terrible sleep is getting me ready for baby -- shouldn't I be packing away a good 8 hours a night now, while I still can? I guess it's like everything else that people say you should enjoy in your last days of pregnancy -- you know, doing all those couple things, going out by yourselves etc -- most of them are already off the cards because I can't sit in one place for too long, I can't have a drink anyway, my conversational skills are not what you'd call sparkling right now.

That sounds like a giant moan but really, I love being at home with my husband most of all just now in any case. Last night, he watched rugby while lying back on me and the baby (a little), feeling the kid belt his ear when he got too excited about the Hurricanes' peformance. It was truly very nice.

We waved our hippie flag at the yoga birth prep course yesterday. Actually, we waved our mainstream flag in front of many hippies because we were the only people booked in to give birth at the hospital, rather than Birthcare (Central Auckland's birthing unit, where epidurals are most certainly not available.) I have been enjoying practicing the birthing positions with P -- because of my heat and general discomfort/size, I haven't been as physically affectionate with him as I would normally be. Hanging off his neck to rock my hips and doing some gentle squats using each other as support was surprisingly intimate and relaxing.  Here's hoping some of it sticks.

I got cross after speaking to Dad yesterday. I guess it's a sign of greediness and Dad's general stability over past weeks that when I hung up, I blurted to P that I wanted my old Dad back. Not all that long ago, even this version of Dad seemed impossible.  I have been grateful, don't get me wrong, but I still reserve the right to miss him as he was.  And don't worry, I can also see the day when I read this back and get furious because this is so, so much better than no Dad at all.  I think I see this happening with Mum too - we all want continued improvement and when he has a bad day with blood pressure issues, or when he can't recall what was said or gets confused, we get frustrated now, rather than despairing. I suspect it's natural. At the very least, it's better than crying. I try not to let him see it.

I want to write him a letter, but what on earth do I say? Maybe just that it made my life to get a birthday card signed by him, wobbly and with two extra 'd's at the end of Dad and all.  I need to do it now. I never want it to be too late.

decemberish

The end of year party season has well and truly begun.  Case in point: it was not yet 3pm last Friday at a team lunch when one attendee grabbed her breasts in an illustration of the difficulty caused by her lovely (but possibly workplace inappropriate) backless top.  I'll have you know I was a model of propriety.  Oh, hey now, doubters: I had to get back to the office so I actually was well behaved, unusual or no!

The party got me in the holiday spirit.  I dragged P to a Christmas tree farm and thence to the Warehouse for cheap decorations.  We bought a ghastly Michael Buble Christmas CD and I thrashed it while adorning the tree with super! cheap! candy! canes! and scattering glitter on the floor.  My house smells just lovely, like pine and happiness.  I abhor pine scents generally - them old fake ones - but I cannot get enough of huffing my Christmas tree.  It's delicious and sends me straight back to my childhood.  The tree itself isn't as big as my family memories, at least in part because the space for it ain't so big neither.  I left the bottom largely undecorated, expecting the purrymouses to destroy it in five seconds flat.  However, they're largely unphased.  Cokes batted a decoration to get my attention last night, but then he also jumped on me, scratched my leg, ate my headphones and manufactured a spew on the living room floor all in an effort to wake us up to fill his bowl this morning, so I think I don't think he has a particular animus in relation to the tree.

TWO WORKING WEEKS, TWO WORK PARTIES AND A LUNCHEON LEFT.  CANNOT WAIT TO BE DONE.

I'm so desperate to be finished this year I've started drafting my usual end of year survey.  I'm still struggling with a pithy description of 2014, in large part due to denial that 2014 has in fact begun. 

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On another, horrible note, I've had some very bad news that affects my Hat Friend.  I am sorely worried for her.  I don't pray, I think -- so I'm thinking near constantly about Hat Friend's situation and hoping for the best possible outcome.  It's scary when (a) things are completely out of our control and (b) your words sound like horrible, hopeless platitudes.  Words can be powerful. I need to corral them and winnow out the least effective, leaving something meaningful, I hope. 

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. 

Timothy

Timothy was hit by a car on Wednesday.  He died.  We are devastated. 

I miss that kitten so much my body aches.  I could write cliche after cliche here and talk about all the reasons why and the feelings I'm having and what happened next or how I closely I have been holding Tabitha but I can't bring myself to.  I loved him, he is gone and I am grieving. 

I wish it didn't happen.  I wish it so much. 

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. 

february, be gone

FRIDAY FRIDAY FAH-RYE-DAY.

I could have finished the post right there, but I'm verbose, so.  Thanks be to the almighty it is Friday.  Am already dreading Monday.  Am so, so sad.

Going to a wedding this weekend and am having the perennial (privileged middle class female) debate:

- sexy shoes what will get broken in the grass; OR
- slightly less sexy shoes which might survive several hours on turf.

Despite my shoe dilemmas, YAY wedding.  I seriously love being a wedding guest.  Despite being so fundamentally ambivalent about the institution of marriage, ceremonies celebrating love and commitment are my jam. 

(*qualification - my ambivalence relates to the need for marriage to be the only legally recognised form of commitment between human beings.  We can all commit in our own ways and everyone should enjoy legal rights and recognition where commitment exists).  Hymph, digression, got all political there for a second.  Soz.

ANYWAY, love wedding ceremonies.  I'm going to see some of my favourite people be supremely happy tomorrow, how awesome is that?! P + R are just going to have the best day and I bet they're already having the best ever after.  [Did you also love Ever After, that Cinderella movie with Drew Barrymore?  Oh god, late 90s I had such a THING about DB movies - Never Been Kissed?! She's the business, Drew is.] [I wish NZ had Netflix because FRIDAY NIGHT memory lane time!]

The wedding is in Hamilton, so we're having another night away from the purrymouses.  The kitties will have to survive on their own this time - food will be delivered but no pet sitters, this time.  They spend lots of hours happily outdoors now chasing cicadas so I trust they'll keep out of trouble. 

I hope you all have as lovely a weekend as I will attending a wedding.  May spring arrive for you in the northern hemisphere and may summer stretch out in the south. 

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.)

personification is a girl's best friend

I'm not sure the kittens appreciated that we'd given them unfettered access to the outside world.  They were sound asleep on/under my bed when I arrived home yesterday, having pushed every item off the top of my dresser onto the floor.  To be entirely fair to them, it was scorchingly hot and they may have come back inside for some respite from the heat.  But there's no firm evidence that they recognised they could use the cat door, propped up flap and all (you should see the jerryrigged string situation we've got going on with the cat flap.  It's proper home decor.)

Just as we thought an early autumn was kicking in, this past three days have been searingly hot.  The harbour is hazy with heat today and the roof cavity didn't drop below 20 degrees celcius last night (o HRV system, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.  The ability to constantly check the temperature; cold air in the bedroom last night; no condensation in winter: you are my favourite inanimate thing of the week.)

This heat is a good thing, too.  P has planted some late beans and tomatoes, which I hope will bear fruit / veg in a month or two for a late harvest.  I'm not quite ready yet for summer's departure (which, given it's only February doesn't seem unreasonable to me) - I feel like the warmth hasn't quite made it right through my bones (stupid work A/C at fault, no doubt). 

Ack, I keep posting hodge podge jumbly snippets of 'What I Done Lately' and it's irking me.  I need to sit down and write something all proper like.  In the meantime, have a list:

Things What Have Irked Me Lately, Other Than My Dumb Blog:

• slow drivers speeding up as soon as they hit a passing lane;
• the toilet paper situation at the Huntly public toilets (I was desperate, if you must know.  Eventually found some loo roll that wasn't already stuffed into an overflowing bowl);
• the inability to fly to, say, Fiji for super cheap exactly when I want to;
• a slightly underripe nectarine; and
• the death of my lawnmower (R.I.P Buzzy).

Things What I Have Been Happy About, Lately

• the surprisingly good performances of the New Zealand cricket team;
• a lamb and carrot, beet and potato meal I made last night (much nicer than it sounds, of course);
• celebrating our second anniversary.  P and I went out for a formal meal and laughed copiously.  It was brilliant;
• the possibility of buying a new lawnmower (Buzzy was awesome and all, but had a serious flap issue that occasionally lead to fistfuls of cut clover flying in your face); and
• a perfectly ripe avocado for breakfast this morning. 

sorry

I dislike feeling a compulsion to apologise for my absence from the blog, but then, I apologise for all sorts of things, so why not this?  Things I apologise for include:

- my appearance whenever complimented by friends (Oh, this dress?  Sorry, just a cheapie from Next) (Oh, my hair? Makes a nice change from the usual bird's nest, doesn't it?)

- my appearance generally (I'm sorry I look like I've been dragged backwards through a bush today.  It's humid, you know)

- my presence (I'm sorry for bumping you [even though you were standing in the middle of the bus aisle like a chump when I was trying to get out of my seat])

- my cooking (sorry it doesn't look that nice, I promise I haven't poisoned anyone...yet)

Etc.  There is a probably a long list of things I should apologise for, but I'm wilfully choosing to feign ignorance in that regard.

So.  Yes.  Sorry I've been gone.  No excuses, the muse has not been with me is all.

What have I achieved in my absence?  Strikingly little.  I had a very nice long weekend at the lake with family, following which we did not pick up Cocoa the Cat from Hamilton as expected.  As I mentioned, my MIL's co-parent to Cocoa, J, is in a hospice where she is receiving respite care for terminal cancer.  We had understood that Cocoa had no one to look after her in the interim (my MIL still being in Germany) but it transpires that J's family are now house/cat-sitting for J and are taking Cocoa to the hospice for visits.  We may still be asked to provide a home at some point in the future, but that seems much less traumatic for Cocoa and good for J, too.  My MIL arrives home for a few weeks at the beginning of March and I think some more decisions may be made then.

This weekend I spent at least two hours on my hands and knees removing kikuyu grass from the lawn.  It was extremely satisfying ripping out chunks of root systems, tragically.  How rural is that?  I ask you.  You don't come here for the recipes or the outfit posts, do you dear readers? You come for the unmitigated excitement of reading the details of my personal life! WEED REMOVAL, GLAM.

Also, I scored some free courtside tickets to see the NZ Breakers play basketball.  Much more glamourous.  I sat in front of Valerie Adams who, to us South Auckland types, is a real deal A-list celeb in sporting circles.  Was very exciting. 

It's the kittens' first day at home alone with unrestricted access to the outside world.  Hold me, I'm scared.  Will fill you in on how it went in a week or three, no doubt. 

Nice to be back, actually.  I've missed you. 

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. 

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. 

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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.