I've heard of scaring the shit out of something yet The Cat has decided to scare the shit back into The Kitten, literally.  Whilst The Kitten dared to attempt a maximum dumpus in the litter tray, The Cat parked herself blocking the exit with a deep rumbling growl neither ladylike nor sexy, not that I'd know what exactly constitutes female sexiness in cat world seeing as I'm neither a horny tom cat nor a lezza female cat yet I suspect it's more about fluid and holes than growling and swiping.  Unless they're married.  Do cats even get married?  In private back alley cermonies of fluff?

The Kitten is sporting a few war wounds currently, nothing terribly sinister, just a few scratches.  I suppose The Cat probably has some too yet being a kinky 50-shades of black and a tad fluffier they're not as visible.  The Kitten is either a little masochist or a sycophantic fool for when she's not following The Cat, she's pouncing her.  Bloody woman.  Fighting like cat and dog is so misleading,  The Cat would batter The Dog and he'd take it yet since his premature departure and the arrival of The Kitten several months later it would appear that Cat on Cat fights are far worse.  Though despite the growls it's terribly girly, all handbags at dawn and bitch slapping.

It's late again and I'm predictably knackered, more so with it having been a Tuesday which is our 'busy day' yet in typical sods law, Insomnia is having an extended unwelcome visit.

It's eerily silent other than the subtle breaths of The Toddler next to me and the sounds of The Husband belching from downstairs.  Or it should be silent, if only my head was silent.  It's such a messy noise in there.

Enough drivel for one evening, it's time to attempt operation wee which no doubt will include The Toddler following me, again.  Not to wee, just to sit half asleep on the bathroom floor whilst I wee.  I don't think he trusts me to wee on my own.

He told me today that he only likes girls and not boys, he conveniently ignored me when I reminded him that he's a boy.

Oh bollocks, he just kicked me in his sleep.  Git.

Here's hoping for a repeat of the Mr Skarsgard dream from the other night, wetter than the rain I tell you.

Catching up

Woo-hoooooooooo! The kids are back at school! Let's sleep!!!! erm.. I mean party, yes, let's party.  Things One & Two have been back to school a week now, calm has replaced the chaos once more.  It's not that I don't miss the little buggers, obviously I do, it's my ever fraying nerves that are rejoicing.  Thing One is terminally bored and would rather roll around the floor bemoaning the fact like some demented dog than to actually play something whilst Thing Two has had just about enough of her two brothers and although she's a gem at playing and entertaining herself her brain was woefully bored and starving for academic challenges.  She was positively thrilled at the prospect of returning to school, I think she's broken, where did we do wrong?  That just leaves Jekyll and Hyde, The Toddler.  On his own he is possibly the most charming  and agreeable excuse for a small person ever yet throw Things One & Two into the mix and he becomes terribly possessed, screams in demonic tongues and beholds siblingocide as his dearest hobby as he venomously rips apart any shreds of remaining sanity we may possess becoming abhorrently contrary.  In other words, he turns into a right git.  Had he been someone elses child I wold have labelled the little fellow a complete bar-steward. Happy days.

Chasing the tail of Thing One's birthday was Thing Two's birthday, a mere two weeks later.  Obviously a complete lapse of sanity in our planning there.  Ooops.  However we had the rare feeling of satisfaction knowing that we'd fulfilled her birthday list of presents  Win.  Usually The Relatives all descend upon our modest abode for a buffet and cake, yet due to The Spawn getting older and somewhat bigger the thought was rather stifling not to mention the fact The Kitten is to be kept in the main receiving room so the constant opening of doors may have developed into a rather interesting bitch fight should she have escaped into The Cats dwelling.  So we had the genius idea of celebrating out of the home, with a trip to Pizza Hut for Thing One and The Chinese Buffet for Thing Two.  Infinitely more expensive, but bloody worth it.  Hassle free  Bliss.

After avoiding referrals like the plague for over a decade I've finally been given one to a quack, with the rather amusing name Dr Seine, pronounced Sane.  Yes, really.  I shit you not.

The Husband, who adamantly never has an opinion nor shoes anything but utter contempt for my constantly changing hair colours has spent the last few months protesting his sheer loathing for my current colour, an uncharacteristically normal dark blonde.  It's boring apparently.  Naturally, I have spent possibly the longest time in the past few years not changing it,  possibly just to irritate him, we all need a hobby after all.  Alas even I've become fed up and have predictably bought red dye today  Sorry Thing Two.  No doubt i'll have blood on my hands (& ears) and the bathroom will appear to resemble the site of a massacre by the time i'm through.  I'm frightfully slap dash with my ritualistic hair torture.

Must dash, I have a space rocket to fix and cat shit to scoop, why oh why do they wait until they have lovely fresh litter only to immediately christen it with a large shit then just to ensure the aroma penetrates the entire vicinity they refuse to evacuate the tray until they've kicked and scratched the litter round  or a miniature eternity?  Bloody cat.  Did I mention that she gobbled the cat grass we grew her in mere seconds then pulled up the roots...dumping them avec soil on Thing One's bed? There is a reason we nickname her twatcat.