cats and bosoms
Having First Cat neutered was a decision and event I think more traumatic for Z and me (who had to endure his scratching and weeping and wailing at our bedroom door during the two nights we weren't allowed to let him out, also who had to endure his fighting and wailys and protests at being stuffed into a small cat box for the trip to the vet's - since his large one had chosen the day of the surgery to break) than for the cat itself. The cat just looked confused, and heartbroken at being forced to stay inside. So while he roamed the house crying it out, Z and I spent two nights being jolted awake by the noise and chanting to ourselves It will all be over soon. It will all be over soon.
And although the sight of the cat's denuded, shrunken jewels fills me with sadness somewhat the change in him has been deeply pleasant. He no longer devotes his leisure time to gang warfare and bullying small kitten and romancing my arm. Instead he has taken to investing himself in cuddling up to me and Z (he was always more affectionate of the two cats, but now that the fighting with every other cat/fox/lifeform in London is less of an urgent matter it's like he's decided he has more time for snuggling love). He also seems to no longer view Professional Kitten as quite as much imposition on his rightful space in the world, and the two spend portion of each day playing (ie. chasing each other around the flat/garden/sofa) like maniac. The lawn has sprouted wild and lengthy weeds and grasses which no one has cut yet because the sight of our cats playing 'periscope tails' and 'stalky lions in the savannah' trumps tidy gardens.
Finally here is a picture of First Cat rekindling our intimacy of yore.
Lookit his little leg on Z's! If that doesn't make you go AWWWW I don't know what will move your shrivelled souls.
And now, on to buzzums.
My body has gone berserk. Not only have I spent the past three days engaged in nostop vomiting (just as fun as it sounds! I've taken to tapping my abdomen and pointing out "Oi! Don't trash the place! You're just renting."), but I'm also slowly ceasing to recognise my anatomy.
My bosoms clearly take the baby business seriously for they aren't messing around. In the last couple of weeks they have enlarged and transformed themselves from innocent womanly curves into some kind of firm, loaded weaponry laughing in the face of my previous bras and refusing to be neatly contained by shirts.
Oh bosoms! To think you had been lulling me into a false sense of security all those years! When all along you had been biding your time to run away wielding your own crazy agenda.
On the other hand, compared to my fiercely swelling chest my baby bump looks positively svelte. And I'm torn between horror and fascination thinking "I wonder whatever will happen next?" (Although the answer to that is probably vomiting).
And although the sight of the cat's denuded, shrunken jewels fills me with sadness somewhat the change in him has been deeply pleasant. He no longer devotes his leisure time to gang warfare and bullying small kitten and romancing my arm. Instead he has taken to investing himself in cuddling up to me and Z (he was always more affectionate of the two cats, but now that the fighting with every other cat/fox/lifeform in London is less of an urgent matter it's like he's decided he has more time for snuggling love). He also seems to no longer view Professional Kitten as quite as much imposition on his rightful space in the world, and the two spend portion of each day playing (ie. chasing each other around the flat/garden/sofa) like maniac. The lawn has sprouted wild and lengthy weeds and grasses which no one has cut yet because the sight of our cats playing 'periscope tails' and 'stalky lions in the savannah' trumps tidy gardens.
Finally here is a picture of First Cat rekindling our intimacy of yore.
Lookit his little leg on Z's! If that doesn't make you go AWWWW I don't know what will move your shrivelled souls.
And now, on to buzzums.
My body has gone berserk. Not only have I spent the past three days engaged in nostop vomiting (just as fun as it sounds! I've taken to tapping my abdomen and pointing out "Oi! Don't trash the place! You're just renting."), but I'm also slowly ceasing to recognise my anatomy.
My bosoms clearly take the baby business seriously for they aren't messing around. In the last couple of weeks they have enlarged and transformed themselves from innocent womanly curves into some kind of firm, loaded weaponry laughing in the face of my previous bras and refusing to be neatly contained by shirts.
Oh bosoms! To think you had been lulling me into a false sense of security all those years! When all along you had been biding your time to run away wielding your own crazy agenda.
On the other hand, compared to my fiercely swelling chest my baby bump looks positively svelte. And I'm torn between horror and fascination thinking "I wonder whatever will happen next?" (Although the answer to that is probably vomiting).