Saturday, September 4, 2010

Green Mouse is missing

It's been a grim time for the last few days. Without Green Mouse to distract him, Bersi has been bored and full of discontent - which involves wandering around the house yelling for hours on end.

So today I went to a pet shop to find him a new toy. I stood in front of the cat toy display, staring critically at the range. So many little mice, but none that made a rattly sound, and Bersi shuns the quiet ones. I stood there for some minutes, fondling and shaking toys to test their suitability. But finally, success! A packet of 4 - 4! - rattly mice. And such colours!

I took them home, displayed them on the bed. Bersi was intrigued. I picked one up and shook it. "Are you ready?" I asked Bersi - the traditional precursor to a throw. Bersi crouched low, body tense. He was ready. I threw - he pounced - he triumphantly took the mouse through to LSBF to throw. It was a hit!

So let me introduce... Disco Mice!!!

Thursday, September 2, 2010

So there can be too much trust in a relationship...

For example, when your most beloved asks you to give him a shave. With a straight razor. In general, he's reasonably sane, and he's certainly seen ample proof of my uncoordinated ways, so I don't know why, a couple of times a year, he thinks this is a good idea.

Maybe the brush with death makes him feel more alive. Maybe it makes him love life again, and resolve to reach out and carpe diem with all his strength.

Maybe he harbours a secret death wish.

Maybe he's a masochist, and every fumbling cut makes him shudder with pleasure.

Anyway, I lathered him up and hacked away, removing impressive amounts of bristles, and only minimal amounts of face. Nose and lips remain intact. Eventually my nerve broke and I had to run away so he could do the fine details.

On another topic, am I the only person in the world who finds stockings stressful? It's like voluntarily putting your legs into the maw of an anaconda. And just when I've gotten the buggers into a vaguely comfortable configuration, my peanut-sized bladder strikes and I have to undo all my good work. I made the mistake of buying "control-top" stockings once. It took me about an hour to wrestle them onto my legs, where they proceeded to cut off the circulation to the lower half of my body. I was wearing them for a job interview - once the interview was over I raced to the nearest public toilets and ripped the stockings off, then drove home in bare-legged comfort.