It's Tuesday...

... so I should be cleaning up in preparation for Heather's weekly cleaning visit tomorrow. Otherwise she will kick my ass, but gently. She leaves yellow post-it notes with chores for me and the kids each week, which we cheerfully ignore. But doing the dishes and clearing the litter off the floor is a necessity so the hoover can get to work, and sook up any stray black carpet beetles for a slow suffocating death.

Actually, they can't be carpet beetles, because one strolled out on the WC lino as cool as you please this morning, while I was having my morning pee. Cheeky bugger. The pressing reason for acquiring Her Catness some 4 years ago was the insouciant attitude of housemice in this flat. She saw off the Mustidae nae bother, but has no interest in the Coleopterae. Beetles move too slow to engage her hunting interest and make her pupils dilate. However, phantoms in the night (normally between 1 and 2 am) haunt her and turn her into a werecat, careering up and down the hall, sliding off the polished boards and ricocheting off the skirting boards. She'll attack anything in that mood.

Her Catness has a new morning game since new occupants moved into the groundfloor flat opposite. She's always liked to be up on the windowsill at dawn (currently ~7.30am) to monitor, chatter and slaver at local bird activity. The new occupants opposite have a tabby of the same proclivities, who also faithfully mans her station at the windowsill every morning. I like to say hello to her when passing, to be greeted with her blank, offended stare. She has balls. Anyway, lately Neighbour Kitty and Her Catness have been engaging in regular morning Celebrity Death Match stare-out competitions from their respective windowsills. I have no idea who's winning, but it's an intense competition.