Tuesday, 27 May 2008
A public service announcement. Exercise extreme caution. These bears are very, very naughty and should only be approached with care. They may be considered pawed and dangerous.
Spud Murphy and his moll Bluebell may be found in those disreputable corners of the interknit where loud music and strong liquor is enjoyed. Naughty. Naughty.
Innocent young stuffies may be lured from the path of righteousness into a loose life full of alt-country music and nice frocks. One of Mr Murphy's associates is allegedly involved in yodelling.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Four new paw pads and a hole in my ear repaired. At last. I've been on the waiting list for months and had been bumped several times for not very good reasons. I like to think that I am a vitally important member of this household so I was a bit upset that my health and welfare wasn't more highly thought of. I'm not bitter. But next time she has a migraine I might be looking for an orchestra of car alarms and pneumatic drills to play right outside the flat.
No. I'm really not bitter. When she couldn't finish the sewing last night she did wrap me in my blankie so I didn't lose any fluff. Then this morning we sat in the sunshine and listened to some James Bond radio play while she finished the sewing up.
Don't like James Bond much. Oh, it's all entertaining enough - the films and that - but Bond himself - he's not what you'd call a deep character. Not much to say for himself. All that manlier than manly butchness. He's just trying too hard - isn't he? And shouldn't that martini be stirred not shaken? He's no Richard Hannay.
Or The Saint.
Or Harry Lime - ok - he did come to a bad end and he was a completely sleazy bastard but still - I'd give my ears to sound as smooth as old Harry in his pre-Vienna adventures. Maybe I'm biased. I think I do look a bit like a young Orson Wells. In a certain light. And from a certain angle. Possibly. Maybe not.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
Monday, 12 May 2008
Little Miss Storm Cloud went back to work today. Ah, the peace and the quiet! Trauma sponging is hard work and I'm soggy with angst. Yesterday was the worst. The wailing. The weeping. The promises. "I'll never drink wine again. Ever. Or go to parties."
I had to do it. Told her to talk to the paw. Yes. The poor ripped paw that she promised to fix weeks ago. No fix paw. No sympathy. No hug. No "bear make it all better".
I can't quite see the rip so I've jiggled about a bit and I'm not losing any fluff. Which is good. But it's a short step from "tiny tear" to "only fit for dusters".
If I can get my mitts on the credit card then I might have to take a trip. Let her look after herself. A little bit of pampering. Just what a bear needs.
Or maybe I'll just sit in the sun and watch me plants grow. Little lettuces showing up already :o)
Friday, 9 May 2008
She's hot and tired and grumpy. I'm still waiting for my ripped paw to be repaired. The big scary slug that was living quietly under the window box isn't living there any more.
We do have some nice fresh plants in the window boxes. A lovely mixture of herby things and flowery things and a bit that will hopefully be lettuce. And everything else is covered in copper tape just in case Mr Slug didn't get the message.
Who knows. Maybe he enjoyed the surprise flying lesson.
He was lucky. Groochy Girl has been in a right sour mood this week. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. She was on holiday. And stomping about with a bad attitude. I was sure Slug Boy was a total goner when he popped up and waggled his waggly bits. He got away with a sudden introduction to extreme sport. He looked like the kind of slug that would have enjoyed it.
Several little and biggish spiders were carefully rehomed because spiders are Our Friends.
Don't know why Madame's in such a strop. I could ask but I have my own problems. Have I mentioned my ripped paw pad and how I've been waiting for weeks to have it repaired? I'm the injured, neglected party but she's one with her own storm cloud.
Oh. Apparently she did have a nice day today. Although it wasn't the nice day she went out to have.
She was supposed to going out to have a lovely country walk but thanks to a bit of train chaos she ended up going over Queen's Park but it rained and no stale bread to feed to the ducks so off to the Southside branch of Tchai-Ovna for destressing with baklava, a pot of White Monkey tea and a good book.
I wonder if they would like a resident bear?