It’s my job! I’m a cat!

It had to happen. Just over a week into blogging and I feel the need to write about my bonkers cat, Indi, or Indi Bindi Boo as I like to call him.  He is a character to say the least. Little did we know that in naming him after Indiana Jones, he would take after Indiana and his adventurous spirit.  But then curiosity is a trait that will eventually get any cat into trouble and Indi seems to be having more than his fair share of troublesome moments.

He’d only just started going out after all his jabs and getting used to his new home. It was lovely as he ventured out into the huge outside least of all because his litter tray was not a job I wanted to do. Although Indi did seem to have a smile on his face when he used it!

Within weeks of exploring, Indi looked sad. The sparkle in his eyes was gone and he wasn’t eating. So trip number one to the vet found a huge cut on his shoulder which had got infected. The second trip to the vet was because he kept sneezing and the third and the fourth and his sneezing was disgusting as whatever was coming out of his nose was very smelly. It turned out he had grass stuck up his nose! So after more medication, he finally sneezed and two long blades of rotting grass shot out. Yuk! And yes he still eats grass!

He’s come home covered in mud where he’s fallen into some pond, has come home limping on numerous occasions and because the pond was still there, Indi decided to fall in again. He’s lost countless magnetic collars, some in minutes of putting them on which has prevented him coming in. And that’s because he has let in some tom cat that eats all his food and sprays up the walls for good measure. We had to invest in a magnetic cat flap which is now redundant as it now works like a normal cat flap. He’s even invited his friends round to play in the garden and then they wait for him outside whilst he eats his food.

Out of all the cats I have ever known, Indi is the noisiest I have ever met. Every time he enters a room, he lets out a chorus of high pitched meows until one of us acknowledges him, which is usually me and I am now referred to as ‘Indi’s bitch’ by hubby because Indi knows this and only meows to me!  And then that’s not enough. You have to get up and walk with him to his bowl and either fill it or actually show him there is food already in there. I worry sometimes about his sense of smell! Or is he just being sociable? Either way, it gets annoying. He may have only been fed half hour ago and because he’s gone out since then, he comes home with the meows and demands for food. I have tried to ignore him because being an undomesticated devil means I’m not at anyone’s beck and call for food, including the cat. But Indi has now resorted to biting my toes!  And if there’s one thing the undomesticated devil hates more than waiting on people, it’s pain. Indi wins this round again and again and again. I can’t even open a tin without him going bonkers thinking its tuna! Needless to say he is extremely disappointed when it’s a tin of tomatoes.  

 Recently, no matter how much food he has eaten, Indi has proven he’s rather good at catching mice; too good! Boxing day, Indi thought he’d get in on the action of present giving as he trotted into the living room with a mouse. He dropped it only for it to make a dash for the sofas! The darn thing was alive! We haven’t seen it since and I’m hoping it managed to get out and if so it is one of the greatest escapes! Either that or Indi has caught his present.

 And then the other week, I came home from work and found a mouse’s head in the hall way. Just a head. Like some mafia cat, Don Indi obviously felt that a head is what I deserved. Maybe I’d been too slack in the treats department.  But since then, the tom cat hasn’t been back!

 So now with the supermarket brands of cat foods being ditched, Indi seems to have calmed down on the mouse catching front. Or so I thought.  Yesterday was a day that made me scream and jump like an extra in Scary Movie. For when I lifted up my trainers from the shoe wrack I was confronted by a dead mouse, curled up in one of my black canvas shoes. I didn’t hang around to inspect the poor creature but threw my trainers down and ran. No wonder the cat was acting strangely in the hall. I’m hoping that it wasn’t my canvas shoes that killed it; they’re not the best of shoes in the summer despite numerous cycles in the washing machine.   

To the rescue comes hubby who gets rid of said mouse but not before he decides to chase me around the house with it. Indi was going bonkers trying to get his treat. I have no idea where Indi is finding his little presents but he really doesn’t need to bring them home. I like my presents to have no fur or feathers! A foil wrapped gift would be good with the dark delights of silky smooth chocolate underneath, that’s going to make me squeal with delight not fright!

And while I’m talking about Indi, I’d just like to say that despite all the trees and woodland outside, Indi finds my Christmas tree a source of amusement and fun. Destroying baubles, ruining hours spent placing every decoration with precision, as he climbs through the middle and just lays there. However, when I am in need of a new one which will be sooner rather than later after it’s been ‘Indified’, I will place some fishy treats on the tree for him to search and destroy. But that’s our little secret, just like sleeping on the bed when hubby is at work. xxx

                                   

Is it a pancake or a potato?

        

  Going by all the Fb posts, everyone enjoyed a pancake or two and why not? It’s one of the easiest recipes to make; flour, eggs and milk. Even an undomesticated devil like me can manage a batter mix and I did last weekend. Had all the toppings known to man and jar, and a smoking hot frying pan. Even the smoke alarm couldn’t ruin this fry off. And it didn’t (and you thought I was going to say otherwise; shame on you). But they say the proof is in the tasting and if I say so myself, they tasted pretty good but then there was more topping than pancake as maple syrup oozed out all over the plate and another pancake was required to mop it all up (better than licking the plate). And then I made the fatal mistake of asking how they tasted, only to be told that they weren’t as good as a friend’s. Well that was it. I declared that from that day onwards, I would never cook pancakes again.  Bit harsh when Pancake Day was only round the corner. But it takes a huge amount of effort for an undomesticated devil to conjure up anything in the kitchen and the slightest comment that is nothing but 100% positive will be nothing less than death to that dish.

    The undomesticated devil does not do these things out of the kindness of her heart. They are done because they have to be. Life is too short for cleaning, cooking and housekeeping. Even when the pile of ironing gets confused with Ben Nevis, it doesn't bother the undomesticated devil. It's a challenge to see if it can get so high, it has its own weather system. The single undomesticated devil may get away with an ironing pile the size of Mount Everest as there's no one to nag about a particular shirt/trouser/top that has to be washed and ironed two minutes before they need to be worn because they're going out and you didn't know this as telepathy has not yet reached your skills set.         

      However, moments of splendour do materialise. A New York cheesecake was made by my fair hands a few years ago for a Summer BBQ. It was a sight to behold as the cracked top hinted at the soft, creamy centre. The devastation left behind in the kitchen was testament to the effort, blood sweat and tears that went into this monster creation.  And of course you do not make something like that without expecting some sort of compliment or two, or three. The way it was being demolished was compliment enough until hubby declared that it wasn’t as good as Tesco’s. Needless to say, I haven’t made one since!

So on Shrove Tuesday, I didn’t make the pancakes. Hubby was home and when he’s home, he does the cooking because:

A: He enjoys it. (I like to think this. Whether it’s true or not is another matter).

B: I switch off from the kitchen when he’s here. (I would like to switch off from it when he’s not here but there’s not enough Pot Noodles in the world to sustain No 1 son).    

C: If I do cook, the mess in the kitchen causes hubby’s hair to fall out (well he needs some excuse for the thinning top).  

D: There’s not a single spoon left for his cup of coffee as every single utensil has been used. In fact, every pot, pan, bowl, cup and saucepan litters every work top.

     Recognising these points, I feel I’m doing hubby a favour really which should be much more appreciated.  

      Hubby served up the pancakes, thick and fast; literally, as our son commented that as he cut into the thick pancake, it was like cutting into a potato.  I could see exactly what he meant as the pancake was so thick, it could have been mistaken for a waffle or even a badly cooked sponge and no amount of maple syrup or chocolate sauce would be enough to drench it. So now it’s not only me who will no longer be cooking pancakes.  

   

I am a technophobe and I’m not afraid to admit it

So here we are a few day’s into joining Twitter and starting a blog. Feeling rather smug at achieving these feats of genius even though to the rest of the world they are as easy as breathing (although breathing can be quite tricky when you have the lung capacity of a 60 a day smoker when you’re trying to run  for just 10 minutes on a treadmill going nowhere fast. But that’s another story). Anyway, the smugness has all but disappeared as quickly as the Gremlins have now appeared. Yes, my sudden entry into this techno world is now all a bit grim.

  Have you ever been to told to leave well alone? If it’s not broken don’t try to fix it? Me too. But it has obviously got lost in translation somewhere between my ears and my brain which isn’t far unless you listen to my husband who has told me on numerous occasion that there’s an endless void between my ears because I forget things so easily; like if it’s not broken don’t try to fix it, or please do not reverse the car; ever!! I did and needless to say it now has the optional extra of a dent in the side and that’s the second time. The first, I try not to talk about as we only had the car a few weeks before I decided to reverse and scraped it all along the side. Panicking, I phoned hubby only to be told to wait until I got home . . .  that ruined the start of my day and trip to London or so I thought. A little mooch around Harrods and all was forgotten.

   Anyway, I messed about. Yes I messed and fiddled with my blog entry and log in details and account details because, well I don’t know really, resulting in being told it was no longer available. ARRRRGGGGGG- you get the picture. I can’t describe how I felt in not being able to access my blog with a lovely new background of hearts which took forever to achieve.  A few choice words were whispered as I tried to undo what I had done. I had to whisper as hubby sleeping as on night shift and even when talking, he say’s my voice can penetrate through a 10ft concrete wall.  Charming . . .  but true. I was on the phone, talking to a friend for about an hour this morning and could hear the fidgeting, moaning and then the footsteps from upstairs.  Ruined my conversation.  I know night shift is hard but trust me; not being able to chat is harder! 

    I don’t know how or what or even when, but my blog is back and hopefully back for good (cheers Gary Barlow).  Maybe it didn’t go anywhere. I suspect it was there all the time only I couldn’t access it. This says a lot about me and my techno ability.  But there is a glimmer of hope and it can only get better the more I blog, post and explore. So long Technophobe, hello blogger and Twitter. Next- to master a smart phone but need to own one first!  

  

A Valentine's to Remember

Not having celebrated Valentine's Day for about 15 years; the last time when my now husband surprised me with a courier prancing around in a tux whilst carrying a basket of red roses and serenading the person lucky enough to get said rose. Upon joking about said courier, I received a rose and a verse in front of colleagues, followed by the inevitable red face. This led to wanting the world to swallow me up as I tried to flee only to further my embarrassment by walking into the glass door, leaving an imprint on the now not so shiny, sparkly clean, invisible door.

   So for 15 years I have quite happily foregone the Valentine's Day love fest of overpriced meals for 2, red roses which for the price, you’d expect to be gold leafed and the schmaltz that oozes out of every Rain Forest destroying card. Or so I thought . . .  

    A trip to the shopping centre with my 13 year old son so he could depart from his hard earned cash (a daily paper round in all weathers) opened my eyes and, dare I say, my heart to the wonders that greet a Valentine. Cards of all shapes and sizes adorned with the cutest of animals and teddies, soft toys with take me home faces and huggable soft fur and the sweet smell of chocolate filling the air and tempting you with shiny foils.

  
So my son bought a beautiful heart pendant and soppy card as I moaned all the way round the shops about wanting something and that we should buy into this Valentine’s Day malarkey. Not because I needed an undying show of affection but because I wanted something cute!

    So Valentine’s morning came and I get a Terry’s Chocolate Orange thrown at me; woo hoo! As a lover of chocolate and newly conformed to Valentine’s this was a lovely surprise.  Cheers for the choc but see ya later as I left to spend the day with a friend in need.  

   After a deliciously perfect day with friend, involving bacon butties, homemade cupcakes and arts and crafts with her 4 year old (so cute!), I began the hour long journey home when my car decided to break down at a set of traffic lights on the A22. After three traffic light changes and in desperate need of some help and an escape from all the abuse being hurled in my direction, a kind driver stopped to ask if I was ok. She was amazing! Making up quickly for my damsel in distress tears that sent womankind back to the Stone Age, she set about ordering people out of their cars to push me to the curb. Successfully, this kind hearted woman had done what no one else did; thought, stopped and sorted out in a matter of moments. A show of strength and an ideal role model for all women, she offered to stay with me. I declined, unable to thank her enough for what she had done and a bit embarrassed at my stressed out behaviour. But now I was alone with the forest on one side and traffic whizzing by; the drivers affording an odd glance before they disappeared.

     Now a dilemma; did I sit in the car or stand outside it? Sitting in the car, I worried I may get hit and crushed and standing outside the car, I worried I maybe a victim of some heinous crime (too much CSI and Criminal Minds!). An anxious hour later, my husband came to the rescue with the help of a friend (we are a one car family and therefore a dying breed). We left the stupid car on the verge as not only had it failed miserably to go into gear for me causing me to be stuck in the middle of the road, I had successfully drained the battery whilst listening to the radio and having the heater on full blast. Oops. And hubby had to get up at 4am for work. Double oops!

     Back home, my Chocolate Orange sat on the table and I devoured it, not whole as a Chocolate Orange is even far too big for my huge gob- honestly, it is! I was fed up after a lovely day had been ruined by yucky, moronic drivers who found a new toy today in the form of their horn. Finally my sister and her boyfriend finished their rip off, loved up meal and came over so we could jump start the car. It didn’t need jump starting. The engine revved under the manly handling and then it slid effortlessly into gear. My sore shoulder was evidence that the car did not go into gear; no matter what I did. Now the satanic car purred softly like a kitten, sounding like a gentle laugh as hubby drove it successfully away.

   In conclusion, Valentine’s Day proved to be full of surprises; some wonderful, others unwanted but all showing the love and care from family, friends and a complete stranger without the need for cards and cute teddies. As for my husband, he got the Valentine’s gift every man desires; a car that will only work for man. . .