Tag Archives: Cat

Getting on with it

“I never see what has been done; I only see what remains to be done”.

That’s what Buddha said.  He said a lot of wise things but I’m not putting that one at the top of my list.   I’m quite happy to see what has been done.  Let’s rephrase that.  I’m sometimes astonished at what has been done (an not necessarily in a good way).

The daily prompt asks what is our favourite daily ritual.  I reckon anybody who says anything other than “going to bed” is having a laugh.   Can there possibly be anything more delightful than climbing into bed after a long day of doing stuff (and seeing what has been done)?

I love my bed.   I climb in and lay back and review the day.   If I followed the example of Buddha and thought about what was to be done tomorrow then I’d still be awake when it is time to get up (although regular visitors  may remember this) and that would never do.   The problem is that during my slumbery (I know, it’s not a word yet.   It will be one day) recollections I remember the bad bits rather than the good bits.   I never close my eyes and think “I did a bloody good job there”, it’s more a case of “Oh lordy, why on earth did I say that?”.   It is ridiculous.   It is the mental equivalent of recording a really good film on TV and then fast forwarding through everything except the adverts.

I sometimes read.   Reading relaxes the troubled soul (I bet Mark Twain or someone similar has a great quote along those lines if only I could expend enough energy to go and look in my Oxford book of famous quotations).    I like a book.  I did try reading on my remarkable tablet thingy but it just doesn’t work for me.    With a book I can gradually nod off and let the literature tumble to the floor.    The tablet is certainly robust enough to cope with cascading off the bed but it tends to fall instead onto my chest.  It has this thing whereby it watches your eyes to see if you are looking at it and it senses movement as well.   A very clever idea but what actually happens is I wake up, roll over and the tablet thinks we are ready to go another few chapters so it wakes up as well.   As it has frequently managed to work its way under some part of the bedding (or on one unfortunate occasion the cat) there suddenly appears a ghostly glow and I have to seek it out and turn it off.   It was quite funny when it lit up the cat though.   You haven’t lived until you have seen an illuminated cat anus.

If a book isn’t to hand then a magazine will do.   The Sunday papers come with enough stock to keep me in late evening reading for most of the week.   There’s a problem with this as well though.   I will read part way through an interesting article on something like how Kim Kardashian is liberating children caught up in war torn Syria and doze off.   When I decide to return to the piece later on the magazine has gone.   Honestly, you would imagine that anything lying on my side of the bed was my property until returned to the proper place but it seems that this isn’t the case and half-read papers are fair game to be removed somewhere else.

Never mind though.   I love going to bed.   It is absolutely the best part of day.   Curiously, the second best part of the day is getting up in the morning.   If I could only learn to love the bits in between then I would be a very happy man.

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How do cats know the time?

I have a cat.  At least, a cat shares my living space most of the time.   She has been with me for many years and like me has gradually migrated south.  I’ve yet to determine if her meow has taken on a cockney accent but she would be perfectly suited to travelling on the underground as she is supremely adept at ignoring all that goes on around her.

What I don’t understand is how she knows what time it is.   I know she’s not wearing a watch because she only has three legs and I’ve checked each of them (plus, she would fall over every time she tried to look at it) so there must be something else.

I have considered that she may be just look at the sun and think “hmmm, twenty past three, better set off back in time for supper” – a bit like Crocodile Dundee pretended to – or she may just get the old tummy rumbles at exactly the same time every day but I am not convinced this is the case.  In fact I have proof to the contrary.

I chose to work at home one day this week.   Generally it is not a good idea for me to work at home.   I get distracted too easily.   I start off early and with good intentions but soon enough I spot something really interesting, like a spider walking across the floor.   Then I follow the spider to see where it is going (it may have a family of spiders to look after or it may be going on the spider equivalent of a first date, dressed up to the nines in the best spiderware and carrying a bunch of spidery flowers).   Following a spider invariably leads to something else interesting (A newspaper from six weeks ago for instance) and before you know it you are embroiled in a long ago scandal about a B list celebrity that somehow escaped your attention.

I digress.   At 15:30 on the dot the cat showed up.   I never know where she goes before half past three.   She may be spending the day hunting  parakeets (bizzarely, we have a plague of them.   they allegedly escaped from the set of The African Queen back in the 50’s and have successfully colonised the urban jungle of West London) or she may be sleeping under the shed.

I was otherwise occupied (something to do with drawing faces on tomatoes) and told her to stop her prancing, tail high meandering around my legs and come back in half an hour.   She did that cat disappearing thing (There’s a town in Norfolk called Diss.  The only place in the world that as you approach it, Diss appears) and low and behold, as the clock chimed in at 16:00 she was back with a purr and an impatient rub of my leg.   I have no idea how she manages it.

She also understands weekends.   I don’t really expect animals to get different days of the week.  When you don’t go to work then every day is like Sunday.   Levi (for that is her name) pounces on the bed on weekdays precisely two minutes before the alarm goes off.   She can occasionally be fooled by setting the alarm for an earlier time but that’s a bit mean.    Weekends get a different treatment.  There’s generally no alarm set on a weekend and so she does some cat stuff off in cat land somewhere until she suspects we are about to wake.   Then she does her best “cat as a hat” impression and curls up around my head.

So tell me, how do cats tell the time?

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