Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All

I am worrying about the Cat. It's raining Dogs outside and he hasn't scuttled in. His name is Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All aka Tibby. At least that's what I call him. I am not a mad Cat lover. I tolerate him and he puts up with me. After all, Cats are spies aren't they? Cats sit on your windowsill, look in, take notes and report back to their base.

A few years ago I was bullied into to keeping my (then) young daughters cat. My parents were moving abroad and I had to take the damn Cat. They had purchased it for my daughter because OBVIOUSLY I was a bad, bad mother and would not have a Cat in the house. It was the nastiest Cat I have ever come across. A stinky Alpha Male that fought on a daily basis and came home at night dragging a dogs tail or a human hand. It was aptly named Tiger.  I am a very fortunate person because I can speak 'Cat'. My parents delivered him to me in a Cat box. My fathers arm was hanging off and my mother was trying desperately to cover her facial scratches with Clinique. I was not impressed.

I started as I meant to go on. He looked at me and sized me up. 'Get over yourself' said I, 'Do not even think about going near my bed. There is a blanket on my oldest stinkiest chair for you. Use it or lose it. I will feed you but if you ever step out of line, I will feed you to the foxes'. He took the hint and we co-existed warily for 18 months.  I had to move from my long rambling country house to a large town for work. I took him to the local vet. 'Excellent' said he. 'We need a good mouser...always looking for a good mouser. I'll chop off his bits and give him to the local farmer'. Tiger sat there hissing at an Alsatian, who whimpered quietly in the corner. 'What's his name by the way'?

Between sobs I told him it was Tiger. Now you know...... despite my reluctance to pander to pets. I have a Cat. He is my Cat. We have long conversations and I worry about him. That is all.

Mrs Wook

The Monsters in My House

I have a Monster hiding in the bath. Having only been in the Little House By the Sea for a few weeks I have yet to purchase a laundry basket. Bit of a posh name for a stinky clothes dwelling place. The Monster is my washing and it lives in the bath at the moment. And No! the picture below is not mine. I am far too chicken to show you mine.

Every day I dutifully put one load on  and promptly forget it's there. I then rewash it and finally hang it out on the line. I hate hanging out washing. Hate it with a vengeance!  My mother is the most Holy Saint Hyacinth of Washing. Everything she touches sparkles and smells fresh and beautiful. I am crap at the job and yearn for another life where lovely Cypriot chaps came and took my laundry and returned it wrapped in paper. I once had a Taiwanese student to stay. He arrived with a suitcase full of clean washing...all wrapped in tissue paper or enclosed in a pretty piece of plastic. I wanted to move in with his parents. But now I am alone in my efforts to deal with the The Borg's detritus and the Monster in the bath. There is more than one monster in this house. The Sock Monster is of course well known in our society.

You put a load of socks in the machine and only one of each pair is there when you unload the machine. I have my own theory on this. I don't think the Sock Monster actually exists. It's too far fetched an idea anyway! I think that sock manufacturers are in cahoots with washing machine manufacturers. The boss at Sock Land gives the boss at Washing Machine World a backhander every time a thousand socks are lost. The guy at Washing Machine World puts a chemical in the machine which obliterates 50 per cent of the wash. There is no other sane reason for it, is there?  The other Monster that skulks in this house is the Pen and Keys Monster. It used to be just the Pen Monster but as I age it seems to be snaffling my keys too.

Now the Pen Monster is pretty stupid because it doesn't actually destroy your pens/keys/purse. It just sits back and laughs like a drain whilst it watches you tear the sofa apart and run up and down the stairs a hundred times in your search for said items. Of course, if you are like me, YOU haven't actually lost them. The Borg has moved them and gets pulled out of his Borg Hole to help you look.  The Pen monster then puts them in the most ridiculous place you can think of aka the fridge and sidles off next door to cause further mayhem.

Will someone PLEASE come and fumigate my house and restore my sanity?

Mrs Wook.

Tsunamis and Clocks

The clocks went back at the weekend. Normally I am distraught, hold my head in my hands, gather my duvets and retire to my bedroom until at least February. This year is different though. My world has changed, geographically I mean. I moved some 47.6 miles from Bodmin to Penzance this summer. What a difference a few miles make. The light is so different, the air so clean and ...... let's put it this way. It's bloody lighter all the time down here. I live in a pretty little house with nice neighbours and I am only 500m from the sea. Blissful.

I took that picture above. Little old me. My father swears that I was born camera shy for a reason because I cannot see what is in front of my face! Thank gawd for a 'point and shoot' digital camera is all I can say. Oh! and the above pic was taken two minutes from my house at about 6.30pm last week.

My busy brain does find itself in a bit of a stew about Tsunamis though. It's all this Hurricane Sandy stuff and worrying about my American friends. I find myself measuring the distance from the sea. I try and comfort myself by the fact that there is at least a Tesco's garage between me and the sea.

After all, a Tsunami wouldn't knock out Tesco's would it? Just the meanderings of a restless mind.

Mrs Wook.