Going Cold Turkey is Hard When You're a Cat
I hope everybody had a lovely (Easter) weekend. I have a cold which just won't shift, which is making me feel unduly sorry for myself and once we got back from the inlaws this afternoon I spent the rest of the day in bed comfort reading Klaine fanfiction, compiling a writing play list and not, in fact, doing any writing. I have sorted out my PoV woes, so that's something, but it's hard to think clearly when it feels like all that is between my ears is a large amount of cotton wool.
Our cat, Q, is mostly insane. She is deeply in love with the bath and over recent weeks her obsession has mounted to the point where she is just not enjoying life anymore. She spends her time either in the bath, meowing for the tap to be turned on (she prefers a light drip) or standing behind whichever door is separating her from the bath, meowing for it to be opened. When I had the temerity to take a bath yesterday, she sat, disgruntled, on the toilet seat, peering over the rim of the bathtub. It's got to the stage that she doesn't want to sit with us in the sitting room any more in case she misses bath action. Anytime one of us stands up she is on the alert - are we headed bathroom-wards? When we go to use the bathroom this is what greets us:
If she is not there, as soon as you step into the bathroom there is a flurry of excited footsteps (pawsteps?) and then she flings herself into the bathtub. She's perfected her 'Turn on the tap, minions!' meow so that it sounds like a distressed child - impossible to ignore, even in sleep.
Yesterday we decided that enough was enough and that she would only stop if we stopped gratifying her. Not turning on the tap feels like deliberate cruelty. She fixes you with her eyes and then looks pointedly at the tap, then back at you, every ounce of her furry, furious will channeled towards making you turn on the tap. Mr Wand has chickened out and is using the downstairs (bathless) bathroom. I am made of sterner(/lazier) stuff. So far. So we had the following conversation:
Me: I see that if and when we have children, I'm going to be the disciplinarian, and you'll be the nice one who caves and takes them to McDonalds.
Mr Wand: No. *Pause* I'll just have to choose routes that don't have a McDonalds.
Our cat, Q, is mostly insane. She is deeply in love with the bath and over recent weeks her obsession has mounted to the point where she is just not enjoying life anymore. She spends her time either in the bath, meowing for the tap to be turned on (she prefers a light drip) or standing behind whichever door is separating her from the bath, meowing for it to be opened. When I had the temerity to take a bath yesterday, she sat, disgruntled, on the toilet seat, peering over the rim of the bathtub. It's got to the stage that she doesn't want to sit with us in the sitting room any more in case she misses bath action. Anytime one of us stands up she is on the alert - are we headed bathroom-wards? When we go to use the bathroom this is what greets us:
If she is not there, as soon as you step into the bathroom there is a flurry of excited footsteps (pawsteps?) and then she flings herself into the bathtub. She's perfected her 'Turn on the tap, minions!' meow so that it sounds like a distressed child - impossible to ignore, even in sleep.
Yesterday we decided that enough was enough and that she would only stop if we stopped gratifying her. Not turning on the tap feels like deliberate cruelty. She fixes you with her eyes and then looks pointedly at the tap, then back at you, every ounce of her furry, furious will channeled towards making you turn on the tap. Mr Wand has chickened out and is using the downstairs (bathless) bathroom. I am made of sterner(/lazier) stuff. So far. So we had the following conversation:
Me: I see that if and when we have children, I'm going to be the disciplinarian, and you'll be the nice one who caves and takes them to McDonalds.
Mr Wand: No. *Pause* I'll just have to choose routes that don't have a McDonalds.