Random insomnia blogging

Wednesday, 23 October 2013

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.


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