Only a few more days

Today is Thursday, great, that's Thursday night, Friday, Saturday and it is over. I can return home on Sunday morning.

Really do miss chatting to Sparkling Eyes even if she's not talking to me.

Such is the power of woman.

Get me out of here.

I am going mad.

The walls are full of my bare fingered scratches.

Help. Save me. Someone.

Clown Shoes

Sparkling Eyes said she's not talking to me. This is because I cut short a conversation on msn as i had to go somewhere quick. I rang her and her voice was defiant. "I'm not talking to you" it was emphatic. She would not be drawn into a conversation. The phone call lasted 2 minutes and was over with. Then for some reason I felt guilty. The blame had been shifted defiantly onto my shoulders. Such is the will of a woman.

When the conversation began we had both acknowledged being tired. Then by default it would be short. However, Sparkling Eyes had things to say. I wanted to sit and listen but I had to disappear. So I did listen and type for a little while, but because I was the one who closed the conversation even though it was acknowledged we were both knackered, I am the one who is in trouble. I sneeze I am in trouble. I blow my nose I'm in trouble. I look at the wall and guess what I'm yes, in trouble. I can't help it I feel guilty now. Someone shoot me. Put me out of my misery. Such is the power of a woman. Even when hundreds of miles away.

The 3 cats don't like me. Angel has now showed a liking towards Long Haired Boy. He said last night she was all over him wanting to be stroked, and dribbling. She dribbles because she has no teeth. Long Haired Boy has pulled a cat. I drink a glass of wine left over from last night and am asked if I have been drinking all afternoon. I feed Angel coz she is meowing outside the window but she don't want me to stroke her. Maybe it's the female sex. Maybe, I have some kind of disease which makes them dislike me. Maybe, I tread on toes too easily.

OK finished me delicious glass or rose wine, now have to decide if I am going down the street for another bottle. Which is a good 40 minute return walk. Oh yes, better take these clown shoes off, don't know who elses toes I'm going to tread on.

Gardening done me in

The Talkatives haven't done their garden in the last century, so I dicided to tackle it and spent maybe 3 hours, cutting grass, pulling up pieces of concrete imbedded in the turf and digging about. My back is killing me. Long haired boy didn't help out but I didn't ask him. He'd put the pizza's in the oven which is probably enough for someone who has nil cooking expeience. They tasted good, but still the garden beat me. Am whacked.

The cats are still playing their ellusive game. Angel walked up to the back door for something to eat, she seemed to be walking slowly. I think she's probably letting her fear of me take over her need to eat. So she slowly starves herself. When all I want to do is pet her and tell her the Talkatives will be home by the end of the week. She'd understand and perhaps realise I'm not an ogre. Well not yet.

I rang up Sparkling Eyes and Rock Chick picked up the phone. She was distressed and crying her words were "it's a long story." Sparkling Eyes filled me in on the details and I later offered to beat someone up if Rock Chick wanted. But I'm sure she thought i'd be more funny to watch than actually cause any physical harm. My physical prowess is deamed impotent by a teenager.
Sparkling Eyes told me the good news about her hospital tests. They will keep a check on her but no need to worry. What a relief.

The boy from next door called me Mr Bean again in conversation. He also insited his side kick call me Mr Bean. He asked if I had a girlfriend. Then later asked if I had sex. Hmmmm I think he was really trying to stereotype me into the Mr Bean personality. I acted half insulted to his question and told him "you shouldn't ask me a question like that, you don't even know me," I said it in a nice way. However he disappeared behind the fence again and I no longer saw him or his side kick Cool Hand any more.

Am whacked. Beaten by the garden? Thank heaven's for the cold taste of a well chilled beer. The top of which, I managed to take off with out any problem.

Audacious, proud, loud Terrifying Tigger

He turned up this morning. The cat I thought was scared. The scaredy cat. In the back of my mind. But he was now on a mission. He'd had enough of avoiding. He'd got his courage together, or some other cat sense and decided to sort me out. Don't make assumptions about the one who runs away. Coz you never know if he's going to turn up again. Tigger did.

For some reason I awoke early. Went downstairs had brekky and listened to the Today program. Angel was doing her, I'm-not-sure-I-like-him routine. Being obstinate, not coming in unless she could do it by a window where I couldn't see her. Buffy doesn't have this problem, she just comes in eats and enjoys a stroke. However, as if from nowhere Tigger turns up. He's at the back door. Tail standing erect, proud, tall and he's meowing to come in. My, this is a surprise. Maybe he'd had enough of the rain. Maybe now he wanted some food. He walked past me with disdain like a member of the royal family coming to tea and hating every second. He walked into the kitchen and meowed. He walked into the front room and meowed. He walked round and round meowing and ignoring the food. His fur was partly up. He looked bigger. Tigger was telling me something and it was along the lines of "how-dare-you-be-here-ass-wipe, where's my owners?"

I'd locked the door after he came in. My assumption was he would be harmless and now needed sustenance. I assumed wrong. He was as much as a cat can be, actually a little scary. I'd put the keys to the door down. Tigger went to the back door after his disappointed nose around. He meowed "let-me-out-idiot" in so many meows. Sodding ell. Where did i put the key down. I hastily looked around. Tigger made his way to the window sill and meowed "so-you-going-to-let-me-out-or-do-I-get-rough?" I wanted to reach to the window's handle but he was in the way. And looking mean. In a moment I spied the key. Opened the back door and Tigger walked proudly scarily out the back door. Shite. And I thought he was just shy.

There really is no reason for a human being to be scared of a cat. After all they are quite a bit smaller. But for a few short moments I actually wondered if he was going to attack me. And had he hissed I'm sure I might of been a little more panicked. But I held it together. Not only that his meow was a little pathetic in decibel level. Although he had the John Wayne walk he just didn't have the voice to go with it. It was a little like the early interviews with David Beckham, where you think what a squeaky poofed voice he has and how the hell can a thicko like him be so famous? But like Beckeham who's intelligence was in his feet, Tigger's was in his attitude.

Maybe I should of gone for a pint today.

Day 4, a small adventure forget the cats

Last night I locked 2 of the cats in the house. A black and white moggy called "Angel" who is very timid, needed the usual persuading. I saw her dart for an open window got there first and closed it. She lets me stroke her and tickle her chin, but she is not going to purrrrr for me. And she walks round me like she's on rice paper, scared I might get my skinning knifes out and make a lovely winter coat. The second cat who has a wonderful smokey grey coat and a white necklace don't care if I stroke her, she's Buffy. She stays out comes in when she wants and then just does her own thing. Lastly Tigger has a very inherent fear of me. She/he, will run and run and run on seeing me. Shit, I really didn't realise I was so ugly (or Fugly, for those in the know). Having enough of the cats and the prospect of yet another day of solitary confinement I decided to see Momma, which was a small adventure in itself. I tried to feed the cats then left.

Mrs Talkative has put me on her car insurance so for 2 weeks I can drive. Except it has been at least 20 years since i drove a car alone. A couple of years ago I re-took driving lessons just to get my confidence back. Although I had a driving license I was then incompetent at driving, taking the lessons over again was like starting from scratch. But I must admit I enjoyed them, the conversation I had with the instructor and getting the hang of a manual gear shift again.

I left mid morning, planing to miss the rush hour traffic, I had a pretty good idea of how to get to the train station. Then overshot a turning and nearly ended up in another town. But being quick of mind or perhaps it was the coffee, I turned the car round and backtracked. At the train station my dilemma was parking the car in the car park. Oh normally an easy task for most people. Except it seemed mostly full up, I found a space. Parked it once. Got out. Bought a ticket. Came back. Re parked the car cos it wasn't straight. Got out. Walked away, looked back to check the car and spied yellow writing on the ground. "Permit holders only" Bollocks. Went back to the car. Found another space even further away. Passed a red car which had a man sitting in it. Perhaps he was spying on me. FBI for neglect to cats no doubt. Except I saw the word "Parking" on the side. Yes, the official was spying on me. He wanted to "book him Dano" a nice fine ticket under the wiper no doubt. Nope, didn't work coz the grey cells were firing on all cylinders. Ok it took 3 attempts but I got there. Afterwards I had a sense of achievement. I was nervous to begin with, and had played with the idea of getting cabs. But I'm not made of money. Funny it was a red car. Perhaps he considered himself a sexy parking-ticket-fine-man.

I saw Momma, and chatted briefly to Sparkling Eyes online. Had a kip and then began my journey back. Being over cautious and running on all cylinders. Yes, I do on occasion. I had earlier printed off 4 pages of maps, and a set of instructions from an Internet site on how to get back from the station to my temporary house. I went over them several times trying to visual the reverse of the roads I had been along and a previous journey along the route back. Except this time I was driving. And although the lighting was dimming, I did it. Another achievement. Amazing, silly little things. My driving alone for the first time in 20 plus years. But I enjoyed it. Even the weird idiosyncrasies of an automatic car, which actually begins to move as soon as it is put in Drive, without having any pressure on the accelerator. And driving with one foot. Which must mean automatics are pretty useful for people with one leg. But I'm not going to get one leg chopped off just to drive about.

All I need to do now is make friends with Tigger. Perhaps lock she/he in the car and take it for a little drive. hmmmm no perhaps not, a fur coat sounds much better. Damn must remember to take my Wanted Reward poster down I'm sure Tigger's seen it.

Day 2, Where'd the Cats Go?

Well it seems like I must smell real bad. To cats anyway. There's only one who ventures close enough for me to stroke her. And it has taken some gentle persuasion. The other 2 have probably packed their bags and decided they can't live in a house which isn't as loud and noisy as a zoo. The Talkatives would of had their first full day away. I hope they can cope. It's raining cats and dogs here, while in Spain somewhere the sun is frying eggs in their own shells. I suppose ready made fried eggs could be quite popular. Except for the cats. The other alternative is they have found another home, taken a hike, or stowed away on some other flight hoping to catch up with the rest of the family.

If anyone reading this has an idea of how I can make myself more approachable to these fury beasts. Comments are welcome. But note I am not going to put on a Cat outfit, grow whiskers or meow late at night.

Unsociable Cats

My self imposed seclusion is much to the amusement of Sparkling Eyes. Whilst Rock Chick has tried to spook me by saying the house I'm sitting is haunted. Quite clearly it is not, and trying to send me scarey pictures to put the wind up my sails isn't going to work. As an aside, I'm wondering if I should stock the fridge up with Stella, for some reason I got a thirst for one.

The cats are warey of me. It's not because I prounce about in a large Chicken costume trying to instill a phobia of birds in them. It's for some unknown cat reason. The weather is on the turn and pissing down. So if the cat's don't like me and don't come in when it rains they are going to get wet. Though one of the cats a black and white one is quite a scaredy cat. Very nervous. I play peek the cat round the door. Trying to spy on her to see if she will come in for her food. But when she gets wind of me, not that I have much wind at the moment, she gently and tactily reverse steps away. They are going to starve and it will be on my head. Probably. I'll see how things develop over the next few days. After all it could hail stone then we'll see how many lives they have remaining.

I need to get out and buy a large sunday paper. Keep myself occupied. Infact maybe I'll do it at lunch time I can then eat in the pub, have a pint and read the paper. Hopefully i'll not be kicked out because I'm the little insane man sitting in the corner talking to himself about abandoning 3 cats.

The Talkatives take a holiday

Being related to the talkatives means every once and a while having to go beyond the call of duty. The next two weeks is my beyond-the-call-of-duty turn. One man in his 40s sits 3 cats and a house. I'd alluded to this in an email to a colleague at work, saying I was cat sitting, stating I wasn't sure whether it meant on or with the cats, in either case it was the cats problem not mine. It would be especially if I sat on any of them and it was snuffed. Then I'd have to find a Taxidermist and explain in some fashion while their furry love-able member of the family seemed so inert. Probably i'd have to make a quick getaway, just as they returned from sunny land and plonked their cases in the hallway. I'll get a taxi number and write it down. Just in case.

I been doing a lot of tidying up. The smaller Talkatives Little Angel Talkative certainly doesn't know where the bin is, Middle boy talkative I can't really comment on except each time he passes by me I have this irresistible desire to ruffle his hair. At the age of 10 I suppose I can get away with it. Unfortunately I was witness to a Terrible Tantrum from Angel Talkative who at 6 years old showed her colours, and they are very bright varied and not as fluffy and nice as the Angel I genuinely thought she was. Big Boy Talkative is not at all talkative, it must be the teenage boy hormone thing. For when he does speak the odd word his sentences can be broken up by 2 extremes of cantor, either a man who has something quite gruff going on or as a boy making a squeak. I wonder if I spoke this way when a teeny?

Though of all things I do realise about myself as a teeny I was pretty moronic. So now I see the light. Age bestows intelligence, but not always, some people just refuse downright to be intelligent at all. Even with age. So there is not always hope, especially for the stupid ones. Let there be light. Nope. Unfortunately this magic phrase doesn't work, the last bulb used years ago or just not replaced, ever.

What am I going to do with myself over the next two weeks? I'll find something. At least I worked out where the closest pub is. Unfortunately I don't have any friends in this part of the Cat-House sitting world. Fingers crossed I can get on with my own company.

Discarded Flowers

I finished at the Fish Factory and walked through Town on the way to the pub, where a pint of Guinness sat with my name on it. A beautiful thought in it's own right. A colleage briefly walked with me then had to run off to a Quack appointment. On my short walk I passed a bunch of flowers, they looked like lillies. In a discarded plastic carrier bag. The cream and shocking cerise reds were like spilt blood on a newly laid table cloth, except these were worse the wear. And had probably been dropped, left in the Sun and in the process of wilting. Curled at the edges of the petals their youth hand uselessly passed away. On the pavement for all passers to glance cursorily in their direction.

The memory lingers on.

We are here but for a short while. So what I say is, love those you love with all your heart, piss off those you don't love with every wit in your repertoire and hold judgement on the one's your not sure about. Till further proof decides which side of the fence to lean. But above all never let your Guinness go to long without some attention.

Oops. Always give all and every bit of attention to the very special ones especially when their hugs are the warmest of all.

Smoking Grass

I've recently come back from a wonderful few days in the company of Sparkling Eyes. Rock Chick wasn't around as much as usual because she's earning a wage as a professional waitress and for her a taster of the working world and the reality of money is being had. She's having fun, but especially on pay day. Now don't that sound like a familiar story for most of us.

I went to B & Q with Sparkling Eyes and bought a box of lawn fertilizer and moss killer. It seemed quite a large box but the instructions said it was enough for a quarter of a tennis court. Sparkling Eye's lawn is about this size I thought. So with vigor I took hand fulls of this substance and cast it over the lawn like a farmer throwing out seed on a freshly ploughed field. With pride in my step I looked for each patch of grass where the weeds were particularly thick and scattered a little extra. Sounds like a Bank advertising commercial that bit. I'll admit at this point not knowing what to expect. My reading of the instructions was cursory. Because if I had read them closer and understood what the effects were going to be I'd of done just a small patch of grass rather than the whole lot.

Half a day later after a good soaking with the hose the lawn was not the same. It looked like it had been burnt in patches. Sparkling Eyes threw daggers at me. Not to mention a tongue lashing. Rock Chick piled on the guilt. Telling me it was Sparkling Eyes pride and joy going out into the garden. The little brat said what i had done was like killing Sparkling Eyes second child, the lawn. Yep. A little on the dramatic side i thought. But I had it. I was hung out, draw out and quartered in the smallest littlest chunks you could imagine. The Crows pecked out my eyes, but I clung onto life. And re-read the fertilizer box half a dozen times afterwards. No matter how many protestations I made, "in two to three weeks it will be fine" it was not good enough. Another poke to the eye. Rock chick giggled in delight at my castigation and nearly castration if I hadn't of been quick witted, off the mark and a fast fat-boy runner and hidden the knifes.

The days passed and I fetched my train home. Next time I hope to do things differently. Next time I'll get someone else to scatter the grass. And I'll be away, with an alibi. Some place where I can't be found and can't be blamed.

I'm sure the grass will look good shortly, but between now and the place it does look good I'd just better be afraid. Aware. And look over my shoulder.