With all the merriment recently, I haven’t given you an update on what happens in the world of me. So I thought you might want to know. But then, you might not. But either way, Mikiye…put your sandwich down. So here is the state of the house at the moment:
I live with 1 poop challenged cat. 4 eight week old psycho kittens. 1 schizophrenic parrot. 1 pregnant oompah loompah wannabe lookalike – the original looking ones, not the remake one. But she doesn’t have green hair. The orange skin colour? Well…as I said, she doesn’t have green hair.
Just recently, the house has turned in to a war zone. There are a few fronts, labelled by offense.
The first offensive. I did it. You sort it.
The cat has taken to standing in her litter tray, having a good dig around and then leaning her behind over the edge of the tray and crapping on the floor. If I am not in the room, she makes a feeble attempt to cover it up. Recently, this is by pulling whatever is on the floor towards it, which in some instances will be one of the kittens. But then, they are fluffy and may well do the job.. Therefore, I have told my wife she is forbidden from standing near the cat when the cat is having a good empty. This is because I don’t want to come home from work to see my wife plastered to the floor via the glue that is cat crap.
But if I am in the room, she looks at me, meows and then drops her lunch on the floor. Meows again and walks off. I have deciphered the 2 meows. The first one is “Hey, fat boy, I got a little something heading your way in a few seconds!” and the second is “Yeah, see. You clean that up. I have other things to do, and anyway….it stinks.” and off she goes. Leaving something that I do believe has had steam coming out of it on at least 2 occasions recently. I have myself to blame I guess. I feed her. But I feed her cat food. Not dead festering skunk, so why the hell does it smell so bad!
The second offensive: We will fight them on the hills.
The kittens sleep a lot. Unless myself and Mrs Sy are in bed. At which point, we become a battleground. I think they use both of us because Mrs Sy is 7 months pregnant, so she has an impressive bump coming along. I on the otherhand have an impressive beer gut.
So they seem to play “Take the hill”. 2 of them stand on our stomachs and the other 2 see who can get to the top of the hill fastest by any means possible. Blood is spilt, screams are let out and eventually there is a winner. Unfortunately it is me and Mrs Sy whose blood is spilt and who scream. “Take no prisoners” is not lost on them. My wife looks like a self harmer. It isn’t pretty. Her arms are covered in cuts. As for me, I just look stupid. It didn’t take the kittens to make that one happen.
When they reach the top of the hill, they generally jump about to celebrate and then jump on our heads. Or bite on my ears. At first, it was nice. The nibbling, gentle biting and licking. I loved it. I told my wife to never stop. She then told me she wasn’t doing it. I then felt ill for enjoying the pleasurable feeling of a kitten biting my ears. These days I just don’t tell her they are doing it.
The thid offensive: Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow Meow.
The parrot thinks he is a cat. He meows constantly. If he doesn’t meow, he screeches. But that is OK, he only does that if I am at work. When he used to misbehave before, so I got a water squirter and sprayed him. Then he got smart. He would hide behind a toy and then make the annoying noise and keep peeking his head out. So I need something to make him stand still and then I can spray the little git when he makes the annoying screeching noises. I have decided that I will stand him in the glue that is the cat poop. But it is poor unfortunate Mrs Sy that has the bad side of the meowing bird. When I am not there, he drives her mad. I need ideas as to what to have for a side dish that goes with the parrot. Actually, do we roast him or saute him or go for legs, wings and breast meat separately? So many decisions. I do know that I will be selling a genuine parrot feather hat soon though. Any bids?
The last offensive. I might not be tall, but goddamn you I am pregnant and I will have you for it.
Actually, I shall be nice here. Maybe a little too nice. Is it because I am scared of her? Well, you decide. With two months until sprogly is born, Mrs Sy, the self confessed oompa loompa is more then enjoying her pregnancy. She hasn’t had any weird cravings because she has always eaten fried slug. Luckily, with this being England we get a lot of rain and so they are in abundance. She has not had any wild mood swings brought on by the pregnancy. None. At all. (Is that OK Mrs Sy? Convincing enough that they wont work out that you told me to write it? OWWW!! No stop it…STOP IT!! My arm!! *break*)
For reasons beyond my control, I am now typing with one hand. And no, I don’t expect any comments about 1 handed surfing thankyouverymuch. Hey, you are reading it afterall.
So there you have it. The state of play in my house at the moment. And people wonder why I blog. You lot reading this are as close to normality that I get. Yeah. You.
What’s that? Another plate of slugs? Coming right up wifey!
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