of small bright things I'll weave my life
One of these days when I figure out how to use YouTube I am going to start making and posting lots of videos of the cats. Because the cats, they are delightful and full of quirks that make me laugh. Like the way the tiny midget that is Zelda has to make her legs rigid and brace herself whenever she's being fluffed and stroked to try and hold herself steady. Or her strange, suicidal camouflaging fetish whereby she who is all black loves to curl up on completely black surfaces (especially say, a computer chair) and I have lost the number of times that Z, and I and our guests have accidentally sat on her.
And Milica, who can hear a fridge door being opened from three miles away and who never misses an opportunity to accompany you to the kitchen and attempt to ingratiate himself through seductively caressing your calf by winding and unwinding his tail around your leg. Or the way he falls over himself in his hurry to vault from our bed whenever any of us gets up, just in case we should happen to be, you know, going to the kitchen and he was going to miss it. Or the way he'll stand in the crossroads of the hallway with all of his body pointing towards the kitchenly direction all "Yes, I understand you just want to go to the loo. But may I suggest that a kitchen is a much more rewarding destination? And a better idea? So I'll just stand here, you know, helpfully reminding you of it."
They have thousands of delighful habits, the cats. Like Milica's obsessive attachment to my blue knitted sweater, or his way of curling up on your chest and mewling to be stroked and most of all how trusting he is (because this cat has allowed me to examine his eyes and poke him in the eyeball in an attempt to remove a stuck speck of dirt without so much as a hiss; also has consented to have helium balloons tied to his body).
The best thing though? The sibling fighting between him and Zelda. It's not bullying (there are no teeth or claws) and it's opportunistic in nature (say if she's sitting nearby when he's passing, he won't miss the opportunity to cuff her on the head; similarly she won't miss an opportunity to annoy him whenever possible, to provoke him with her nearness and the wavery of her fluffy fluffy tail).
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The weekend, it was good. Full of small successes.
On Saturday we slept late. And I used Filo Pastry and the enormous quantities of leek in the fridge to make my first pie. (My top cooking tip - chopping mountains of vegetables is made much better by being able to watch Strictly Come Dancing and X-Factor at the same time. Although Z felt that the way I was paying more attention to the Argentine Tango than to my chopping was hazardous for his taste). The pie came out rather nicely (like a low-fat version of a spring roll) and so buoyed was I by my culinary success that I want to make one with apples and raisins.
On Sunday we went to a birthday party and I got given The Most Comfortable Chair In the World and sat in it without pain for seven hours eating canapes and listening to amusing stories (Salmon and gherkin canapes! The new analgesiac!).
And when we came home the night was made of frost and cut-glass stars and I felt well enough to go for a short walk and all the iced-up cars looked like something out of a fairytale and I felt so buoyed by energy and good feelings that I inscribed hearts and stars and pleasant wishes on their frosted rooftops all the way down the street.
And Milica, who can hear a fridge door being opened from three miles away and who never misses an opportunity to accompany you to the kitchen and attempt to ingratiate himself through seductively caressing your calf by winding and unwinding his tail around your leg. Or the way he falls over himself in his hurry to vault from our bed whenever any of us gets up, just in case we should happen to be, you know, going to the kitchen and he was going to miss it. Or the way he'll stand in the crossroads of the hallway with all of his body pointing towards the kitchenly direction all "Yes, I understand you just want to go to the loo. But may I suggest that a kitchen is a much more rewarding destination? And a better idea? So I'll just stand here, you know, helpfully reminding you of it."
They have thousands of delighful habits, the cats. Like Milica's obsessive attachment to my blue knitted sweater, or his way of curling up on your chest and mewling to be stroked and most of all how trusting he is (because this cat has allowed me to examine his eyes and poke him in the eyeball in an attempt to remove a stuck speck of dirt without so much as a hiss; also has consented to have helium balloons tied to his body).
The best thing though? The sibling fighting between him and Zelda. It's not bullying (there are no teeth or claws) and it's opportunistic in nature (say if she's sitting nearby when he's passing, he won't miss the opportunity to cuff her on the head; similarly she won't miss an opportunity to annoy him whenever possible, to provoke him with her nearness and the wavery of her fluffy fluffy tail).
***************************************
The weekend, it was good. Full of small successes.
On Saturday we slept late. And I used Filo Pastry and the enormous quantities of leek in the fridge to make my first pie. (My top cooking tip - chopping mountains of vegetables is made much better by being able to watch Strictly Come Dancing and X-Factor at the same time. Although Z felt that the way I was paying more attention to the Argentine Tango than to my chopping was hazardous for his taste). The pie came out rather nicely (like a low-fat version of a spring roll) and so buoyed was I by my culinary success that I want to make one with apples and raisins.
On Sunday we went to a birthday party and I got given The Most Comfortable Chair In the World and sat in it without pain for seven hours eating canapes and listening to amusing stories (Salmon and gherkin canapes! The new analgesiac!).
And when we came home the night was made of frost and cut-glass stars and I felt well enough to go for a short walk and all the iced-up cars looked like something out of a fairytale and I felt so buoyed by energy and good feelings that I inscribed hearts and stars and pleasant wishes on their frosted rooftops all the way down the street.