So having sent copy off for the website at 10:30 this morning, after an appalling 5:30am wake up call by the kitten, suddenly I was free from thinking about terminal ailments, blindness and sexual dysfunction for hours on end, which was nice. Waiting now for a round of hogsite revisions, but the most arduous part is over.
Instead my thoughts turned to things of a festive nature. Later in the day Anna sent me a text asking me to be Santa for Oskar's "tumble tots" group next week. I'm sure I can ho-ho-ho it up with the best of them, so I readily agreed.
I decorated the Christmas tree, which made Calliope literally go mad with excitement, and tear about in the branches, attacking baubles, tinsel, branches and me with with gusto and impartiality. She got so carried away and fighty that I had to ban her. In protest she hared out into the Twitten into the path of a concerned cat lover, who promptly phoned my number which is on her tag. I opened my door and they were about a yard away. This same lady later phoned me again, to explain that cats need injections and offer other unasked for advice. Turns out she had lost a cat lately and so I think was a bit sensitive about seeing apparently unsupervised young cats driven to the edge of frenzy by baubles.
So imagine my delight when Calliope disappeared this evening. The woman had made me so paranoid that I began to imagine 17 excruciating cat deaths. I called Lorraine who said I should walk about calling her name in a high pitched voice. So I wandered up and down the dark Twitten and neighbouring streets doing so. Unsuccessfully as it happened, but with my local reputation for eccentricity at a new high for Calliope is strange name to be trilling into the night air.
Eventually she reappeared, but not before Lorraine had driven around to help in the kitten tracking.
Below a festive kitten.
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