Chasing the Mow

You never really get to know what happiness a child brings until you are in their company and this is completely true with Princess J. Whilst her mum (Rock Chick) and dad (Dangerous sports lad) were to have a new year's party it was down to her nanny (Gaga) and grand-dad (pops) to look after her. So Princess J spent the hogmany and then most of the first day of 2015 with her Gaga and Pops (moi). Whilst Sparkling Eyes and I, also partied into the wee early hours of new years and hit the hay at 3 a.m. Princess J went to bed at 10 p.m. given good fortune she would have a long sleep and we would get up maybe  10 a.m. and be slightly worse for wear. Except as always there is a caveat and this unfortunately is all at the whim of Olly the cat. Which little Princess J refers to as the Mow. For some reason the Mow brings happiness and excitement to Princess J.  For when he is about she has to play the hunting-for-the-mow game.  The Princess is so alert to the Mow when she is in a deep, deep sleep if she hears him meow she will wake up, and stand in her cot saying in the cutest little voice "mow?" Her fixation with Olly is full and complete, she wants and loves him or just plain wants to pester him. It was at about 8 a.m. Olly decided it was appropriate to begin his alarm clock Sinatra, he wasn't particularly loud in his meow but it didn't matter it was enough to wake up Princess, and after about 4 to 5 hours of sleep Gaga and Pops learnt how to live with little sleep and how to run about like blue arsed flies keeping the little Princess happy.

Mow, mow, then Princess J points her petite index finger at the cat. Olly without any compunction of fear at this point continues with his little meows of attention even though deep in his heart there is a fear of being chased by small footsteps of excitement by the intrusion of a little person.  It's not just the intrusion thing he gets unhappy about, it's a matter of affection. The excite loud screams of a little girl must be hitting a certain audible wave length and cause fear.  That and the manic little running steps she has, it is his nightmare to be chased by Princess J, but he very well deserves it for all the many nights of meowing all kinds of hours and waking Sparkling up. Usually these will result in an elbow to my side as Sparkling says "cat" in her authoritative sergeant major like voice. Unless I am comatose it is always my turn to run about after him, get his biscuits, wet meat or open the door and watch him venture out into the dark deep wilderness of the back garden. He prefers good weather to bad weather as well. Yet with little exciteable Princess J here some of the personal waking up mid morning pain is taken away. Olly's daytime habit is to sleep on a bed and Princess J's day time habit is to play Chasing the Mow. 

The purest form of excitement and happiness arises when Princess J find's the Mow. In excitement her finger and arm point at Olly, her voice goes up an octave, as it gets louder, then she does a Red-Indian (native American Indian) foot to foot running on the spot dance. She is like a mini volcano and jogs with intrepidation on the spot.  This is very unlike the behaviour Rock Chick shows who learnt from a young age to completely ignore her pets because more important to Rock is sleep no cat or dog will get her attention.  Princess J though is a different person altogether and she shows absolute commitment to chasing the mow. I help Princess J up on the bed where Olly might of been asleep.  An evil subconscious laugh goes off in the back of my head, and a voice saying you little fury fiend, you've just met your match. The rest of your day is going to be in fear of the cutest little girl in the world, all because the Princess loves the Mow. LOL, yes I can hear my own evil laugh going off. It's pay back time for the 1 a.m. meow, the 2 a.m. meow the 3 a.m. meow. LOL. Princess J gets on the bed after assistance, I gently try to stroke Olly, but now the alarm bells have really gone off in his head, he stares at Princess and he knows her pats are not gentle strokes her excited scream is going to pierce his ear drum and decides he's not having any of it. He creeps away in full view sneakily as only cats can creep off in full view.  Princess J, points again and shouts out Mow and starts to crawl in his direction. Olly is thinking "no way Jose" and he is off, under the bed away faster than a peep of gas escaping from an open lift following the escaping occupants who under held breath hope they can get far enough away for clean air.  Olly has not choice but to seek salvation outside, in the garden, no matter what the weather he would rather  be out there than inside being hunted.

We tended Princess J most of the day. The excitement of the cat, sleeping over at Gaga's and being given the opportunity of climbing, crawling and walking up stairs, because there are none at her gaff is overwhelming to her. I count stairs up and down, then I count more stairs up and down, this goes on for about twenty minutes at a time. After which her attention is taken to something else and Sparkling is on call for the next round.  That night Gaga and Pops slept the sleep of a zombie apocalypse aftermath. Even a nuclear bomb wasn't going to wake us up. Lets also say Mow slept good as well as there was not a peep out of him till 8 a.m. just when we could of done with another game of Chasing the Mow, where's a little Princess when you need one?

Challenges, a 1000 words, a baby, a neurotic cat and a hectic time of year

It has been 10 days of the 1000 word challenge and it has not been an easy task to set. On one of the days I didn't write any words at all so the next day decided to do double. It was tough going to say the least. But I do notice the times I write about things which are relevant to my own life or stuff I know about then the words flow quiet easily. It's not so difficult on such occasions.  It was said the author of Catch 22, Joseph Heller used to set himself the task of writing one page a day. I remember watching him give an interview a long time ago. Well it would of been a long time ago because he's dead now. Anyway, it was good to listen to what he had to say. It took him at least 7 years to write this first book, going backwards and forwards with his editor. In fact the original title of this book was to be Catch 18, but he decided to change this as "18" was used in another title of a book published a little earlier than his own. It's a ironic he should change the original title when his main character Yossarian of Catch 22 had many problems with bureaucracy, in effect, Catch 22 had become a Catch 22 of itself, because it couldn't be 18.

I caught up with Sparkling yesterday and she told me what life was like looking after Princess J. Who has a new freedom to move about now she can crawl. Her inquisitive nature means there is never a moment when Sparkling is able to sit down and rest. Princess J has to be entertained full time and if she can will refuse to take her afternoon nap. When returned to Rock Chick the little Princess shortly goes to bed and sleeps a full 12 hours or more. Revitalising her energy and getting ready to take on the next day. She has now learnt to pull herself up onto her feet and look around as well. She would like to walk but isn't developed enough so falls down on her backside when she stands up too long. She is also a very funny little girl, who laughs at things which have no meaning at all. Then when trying to make her laugh she will refuse and put on her neutral face. If not her afraid face, well certainly when there are strangers about. The cat Olly has learnt to avoid her. He doesn't like the heavy hands of a baby trying to pull his fir out and he gets upset by it. Probably thinking Princess J is a form of small animal getting all the attention he doesn't get. His revenge is to meow at 3 a.m. and make Sparkling cranky.  If I was around he'd be making me cranky because I'd be getting an elbow in the ribs to sort him out.

I still do my best to get an hour in on the ukulele and but sometimes it just doesn't happen. Still Harvey does make me happy. Playing him is relaxing because it is so different from everything else I do, I love it.  The coordination of strumming and singing is still hard to pull off but I'm sure to get it some day. It's been over a year now and progress has certainly been made. I also recommend to everyone whenever I get a chance to play the ukulele, but I don't think there have been any takers. As Princess J grows up I'll try and influence her, that would be great.

The Fish Factory is hectic because of backlogs of work and the end of a financial year approaching. I can't think of a more difficult and stressful time in the Factory's calendar. I don't know how long it will be before I get a chance to see Sparkling but it's likely to be at least another 4 to 5 weeks and will be time for me to book a room in a padded cell, where there is nothing but piped calming music coming through all the time. Suddenly being woken up by a cat at 3 a.m. or exhausted by a baby, or even spending hours writing word after word after word is much more appealing.

OK back to the laptop, and to think of tonight's 1000 word subject.

Cat love begins at 3:40 in the morning

This morning the cat showed his affection towards me at 3:40 a.m.  he shouted it as loud and clearly as he could in my ear.  Oliver said good morning and he now wanted to be let out into the garden.  Sparkling has said when I'm here this is my duty, whatever happens Oliver becomes my early morning responsibility.  It's nice to know he loves me but I'd wish it was at a more appropriate time of day. It's both sleep deprivation and psychological warfare.  The greatest strategists of war could learn a lot by studying their pets, I'm sure even a gold fish would have some interesting point to make.

It's the weekend so Sparkling has been working and I've been left with painting the kitchen. In a colour called Lemon Pie.  I have never eaten a lemon pie before and it sounds a little sharp for my taste, but colour wise it is quite refreshing.  Only thing is a second coat is needed and my feet are so cream crackered (nackered) I just don't have the energy to hit the DIY store, walk back and again start painting.  Which is the thing with emulsion paint.  One coat is never enough, the same with chocolates, or biscuits.  There are things I could of done other than painting yet this seemed the best use of my time and I know Sparkles will be happy.  Even happier when the second layer has been added.

At last the Olympics is coming to an end.  The disasters of travelling in and around London have probably been averted by commuters themselves deciding to take this time off work and having extended holidays or better still working from the living room chair.  I've heard it said commuter numbers are down by twenty percent.  This seem about right, as I got on the tube I couldn't but notice there were actually free seats.  This is unheard of on the Northern line at peak travelling time.  No doubt central London businesses have suffered a blow from it all. 

Sparkling allowed me to tag along to an engagement party she had been invited to, lucky me.  But unfortunately I was given instructions to keep it low key.  It simply meant I was not allowed to get myself either too drunk or to dance, even if I felt like it.  At one point the rhythm nearly got me, as my legs tapped away to the beat of the music.  I got to meet Sparkling's work associates.  These were mostly young girls in their teens.  They all seemed to love Sparkling and at least two of them said Sparkling was like their second mum.  I saw her boss, a little man who I know had been obnoxious to Sparkling on occasion and refrained from talking to him about his behaviour.  It would not of done much good and I'm sure at some time he will get his karma come back to him.  It was good to put names to faces.  I'll get to see them in my mind next time Sparkles talks about them.  It was odd as I sat there, being half merry and enjoying the atmosphere how my internal voice kept yabbering away as though narrating a book.  It seemed to flow so easily, I thought if only I could remember all of this stuff going on in my head and then write it down.  Of course it doesn't work this way.  It's either a matter of get it written or recorded or it's instantly forgotten.  The eloquent thoughts have therefore flown away  on the wings of a butterfly.  Very gentle and very fragile.

It's just turned seven in the evening and Sparkles has still not turned up.  I know the cat's biscuit tin is empty and will need some more, he can moan if there's no food left.  Sparkling will likely want some food to eat.  What I should do then is think of making food.  Something light.  Something Sparkling will like as well.  Better go and find Oliver first though, wake him up tell him I love him in a loud cat way he'll appreciate.  As they say karma is a bitch.

Aunty Insomnia

So there I was yesterday blogging about how difficult it was to get some peace and the evil of interruptions, and today I'm at the Fish Factory, with hardly anyone around me, in a quiet office and unable to get on with what I should be doing because I'm now procrastinating.  The old Devil Mr Procrastination had perched himself on my shoulder and kept whispering in my ear "do this, do that, not what you're supposed to do," the thing was he won out a few times.  it could be because after a week of madness I'm exhausted with it all and just want to do something else.  Besides work.  Or it could be because I woke up with less than four hours sleep and was unable to drop off again.  It was the madness of Aunty Insomnia who had visited me.  I lay in bed just hoping by some association laying in bed would give me something like sleep, which it did not.  So there's no surprise when i eventually got to the Fish Factory and did half a morning's work I was feeling tired.  I need exercise, which always does manage to help me drop off.  Even if it's just a little.  Exercise is like garlic to a vampire an Aunty Insomnia is a vampire of sorts, she's there to keep you vigilant, alert, in those wee hours of the morning when the monsters come out and want to steal you away.  But they can't because you're awake and ready for them.  In such circumstances Aunty Insomnia has her place.  She is a valuable tool against the horrors of the morn.  Except for the fact such horrors do not exist because they didn't stop me from getting up going to the toilet or doing anything else I wanted to do.  These horrors are the stay awake thoughts of an insomniac.  Thoughts about nothing in particular, thoughts which make the bed not quite comfortable enough.  Whatever gland there is in the brain which kicks out sleep hormones wasn't working.  Certainly not last night.

By some telepathic sympathy, Sparkling to did not have a decent night's sleep either.  It could be a combination of her hypertension and knowing she had to start work early.  She was on the 8 a.m. shift this morning, and then is to do an evening shift this minute.  Today may be part of the weekend for most people but for some it is the start of the working week.  For some who do not spend the weekend chillaxing.  I hope she has a good sleep tonight because she will otherwise be exhausted and she needs it. In the end we are all going mad in various degrees, but usually for different reasons.  Aunty Insomnia can be one of those reasons, it's the reason why you hit the workplace and feel tired out with no energy and could kill anyone who wants to get on your nerves.  I don't think Sparkles has killed anyone yet but she does have high blood pressure, this worries me.  I want Sparkles to be in the best of health and to not have insomnia more so than myself.  If it helps I'll volunteer myself to take on her insomnia just so she can sleep.  Which I have done at times when the cat has decided at 2:30 a.m. he wants to get up have a bite and go out for a bit of play time with the other cats.  If an animal can suffer from the attention of Aunty Insomnia Sparkling's Olly (cat) certainly has it.  Then Olly does spend all day sleeping on every soft cushion or surface in the house he can find.  No wonder he's nuts.

I know I am not getting enough exercise which is probably the main key to getting better sleep.  It has been raining every day for the last two months so it doesn't help the matter.  Yes I don't let the rain get me down and actually don't really mind it but it is another excuse I can throw in the bag and blame on old Aunty.  Further I am not getting any younger.  Now if there's a cliché that sentence is a cliché and is axiomatic.  Nobody is getting any younger if they were then they would of tripped over the fountain of youth and the world would know about it.  I don't think anyone in their right mental state would want to live forever, but they would certainly like a good night's sleep three or four times a week.  Damn.  I got to get out more.  The secret could be getting physically tired so as to evade Aunty Insomnia, because then no matter how much she bangs on your bedroom door, nothing can be heard, because counting sheep is in progress.  Yet it's not just physical tiredness which is important.  The head has to be switched off so it is not generating thoughts of any kind.  Mind exercise is also needed.  If I don't mind, neither will Aunty.

The mystery of the missing Cat

This is getting odder, yesterday it was my keys today it is the cat.  I saw him this morning and let him out, Big Momma let him in and fed him.  He has not been seen since.  Momma thinks he has somehow got himself in the walls.  Which although very unlikely is possible as they are cavity walls.  But I don't think so.  I'll refrain from putting up wanted posters at the moment.  I've opened the back door and looked into the dark wind swept rain, I've even called out, "come on puss, where are you Stinky, come on in!" alas to no avail.  He is not listening or has got a better offer somewhere else.  Well he wasn't our cat to start of with, he adopted us and stayed in this house because we fed, watered and tickled him.  There wasn't much choice about it.  So Big Momma has been saying "oh the poor thing, he's stuck in the wall."  Of course the horror of him being stuck in the cavity wall and not being able to get out is terrifying.  I could see him now, clawing his way to some point between the walls and he is frozen in position, unable to move any part of his body because he is tired out.  Not a nice thought.  One of those little terrors you hope is not true because there is no way the wall is going to be knocked down or smashed open to try and find him.  The house would fall down.  In addition there's the notion of trying to sleep the next few nights.  Well I just don't want to think about it any further.  I'd rather go along the lines of him being abducted, by aliens.  Of him going back to the home he used to live in, of being lost in the wilderness, or plainly just hiding under some kind of shelter outside which is out of the rain and keeping him dry.

Big Momma insisted she had heard the cat meow.  We got into an argument.

"It's the wind and rain outside what you can hear.  Or it's the neighbour's kids screaming, or even a fox outside.  It's not the cat."
"No it's not outside.  He's in the wall, I can hear him.  I heard him earlier, loud and clear. The poor thing, he's stuck, he's in the wall.  I'm not mad I don't hear things.  You're the mad one.  It takes one to judge one."
"Yes you are mad.  He's not in the wall.  He can't be.  If he is there's no way he is going to get out.  I'm not going to have the house knocked down to find him.  I can't hear him.  You're hearing things."
"I'm not.  He's in the walls, he's not outside either I've looked"
"OK, I'll have a look outside myself."
"Go on then, I've already looked, he's not there."

I went outside, checked under the little old table in the garden, round the side of the house and then by the rubbish bins.  He wasn't there.  Not even a poor injured Stinky.  Where the hell was he?

Back inddors, the telly was on.  I listened and could not hear a thing.  If the cat was meowing then it was infrequently.  Big Momma must be hearing it, she's got to be going crazy.  Unless he was tiredly meowing, and as she predicted stuck in the walls.  About twenty minutes passed and I was wondering whether Big Momma had psychologically screwed up my head.  A bit like Sparkling can when she wants to play about with my mind, telling me things are there when they are not.  She has done this too a whole band of youngsters before with her ghost stories.  Then I'd hear the cat and would be going bonkers. When he clearly wasn't there.  Or of course the worse scenario was Big Momma was right.  Then it came, and if I hadn't of actually been trying to listen for it I would of thought I was going completely loopy.  It was a small "meow," I had to really think and question myself whether I had actually heard it.  Was I mad?  Was there some contagious mental illness which had just been zapped into my head.  Next week I'll be out in the garden playing with the fairies.  The faintness of the meow was disturbing thoughts of being mad or the cat was in the walls.  Bloody great news on two counts.


I turned the telly off, took a torch and began looking in the most unlikely nooks and crannies I could think of.   Behind the immersion heater, opening cupboard doors completely, checking every shelf in the cupboards.  In closed boxes which he could fit only to find the boxes were full of stuff and there was no way he would get in them unless they had been opened and he was doing a sardine impression.  I heard a "meow" again.  It was louder tis time, definitely coming from upstairs.  Big Momma commented.

"Yes, he's climbed up inside the walls, he's in the wall at the up stairs level, we have to keep calling downstairs so he can make his way out.  He has to come out by himself."
"Look.. Just shut up and listen!  Be quite!"

There was indeed a slim possibility Stinky had climbed up into the cavity walls somehow from behind the kitchen fittings.  This was not something I wanted to contemplate.  Or I could expect men in white coats to come knocking on the door shortly.

The only way to get a bearing on the "meows" was to lay on my bed.  Be still. Listen.  I calmed myself after arguing with Big Momma relaxed and tried to heighten my sense of hearing.  If Stinky was stuck in the walls then I had to know.  If his meow was muffled or loud, whether I could sleep through it or not. Would it play on my conscience?  I'm not going to get a builder in or have the house revamped.  I lay there and there was no sound.  Ten minutes passed.  Then I heard it again.  This time Stinky's meow was louder.  There was no way that meow was coming from behind a cavity wall.  It would of been a lot more dull.  Like meowing through a sock.  I took the torch and now moved in the direction of where I thought the sound was coming from.  Even with the lights on they are not bright enough to see in those dark places a cat would seek comfort, solace, non disturbance from human beings.  I heard it again, even louder this time.  He moved as well.  It was coming from the bed.  Big Momma's bed.  How on earth I wondered could he have gotten under it.  The bed has a skirting down to the floor.  I then noticed there were some large draws on the side of the bed.  They looked like decoration and not real draws.  So I pulled one open.  There sitting amongst chrimbo decorations was one, content cat who really didn't mind at all whether he was found or not.  He had been quite happy, and I'm sure wouldn't of really bothered meowing unless he was desperate for food.  Knowing Big Momma's luck he'd of made up his mind at two a.m. in the morning.

Big Momma wasn't crazy and neither was I, thank my lucky stars.  I took of my deerstalker hat, put my magnifying glass, torch and notepad away.

So it was another mystery solved in the life of Sherlock Holmes had passed.  Are these walls really padded?