My daughter has been out taking photographs all day, so he has had me to deal with. I am slightly less indulgent with him than she is. I have strong views of the hierarchy of living creature, with people at the apex.
We went out this morning for coffee, then she had to leave for work. When I arrived back, the cat was nowhere to be seen. I searched high and low (this is a three storey house) and absolutely could not find him. Not a peep, not a tinkle of his bell, let alone a miaow or a yowl. Evidently he was doing the feline thing of sleeping all day and getting prepared for the next bout of racing madly up and down, in (but not out) and here and there and roundabout. (He reappeared, demanding food, in the late afternoon.)
I gave up searching for him, and went about my business. When deciding what to wear today I pulled out a light woollen top and put it on, only to discover it had nasty little holes in it. Moths or silverfish, or both, had evidently been feasting.
This was alarming. I hastily checked all the other woollen garments, but this one was the preferred meal. The mothballs and anti-silverfish substances had evidently been used up. Time to buy more. While I found packages of anti-moth substances, single mothballs were not readily available, but finally, on my second expedition, I found them at the two dollar shop. I have yet to put them through the drawers and wardrobe, but soon everything will smell of camphor. I don't like going out smelling like that, but even less do I like finding nasty little holes in my fine woollen garments.Having just finished crocheting a jacket, the very idea of these beasties devouring it is more than human flesh and blood can stand.
As well as dealing with moths, silverfish and the disappearing cat, I have had to get all the tax stuff organised. Finally, and to the best of my knowledge, I had it all copied, a summary typed out, and it all posted to the tax agent, so that when I visit Melbourne for my sister's 60th birthday, I can go and sign it all, and feel a heavenly sense of ineffable virtue and accomplishment. Until next time, of course.
When I was a young thing, one's man did all this. That was the theory, but in fact often the men were as fallible and inefficient as the women - a fact which gives me no pleasure, but merely a heavily reinforced sense of human imperfections. There are times when I feel I have more than my fair share of human imperfections.
It is amazing how pleasant and consoling it is to sit there stroking a contented and purring cat. There is a chicken roasting in the oven, and I look forward to a companionable evening with my daughter (and the cat).