Cat-sitting, Wednesday

Wednesday: The cats are now used to the setup. No one feels the need to throw any kitty tantrums, or be overly affectionate (just in case Sophie and Scott feel the need to sail into the sunset, and I'm the only feeding option left). I've had a bitch of a day, the victim of mild cyber-bullying by a stupid academic who hates repetition but won't take no for an answer. After several e-mails in which I slowly lose the will to live, he finally gets the point. I don't have the information he needs, but I'm the only one daft enough to have put my name on an e-mail. I think vicious thoughts and blame the migraine medication, which normally would have worked by now. Wish I'd never thought of a sickie, now I am feeling really ill. Between the headache and this joker I feel vile. I wonder if I cover him in tuna, will the cats kill him off and dispose of the evidence? I put this idea to mate Anna, as a purr-fect murder. After the groans stop, she points out that all the cats are fussy eaters bar Elvis; he really can't be expected to do this alone.

Back at the ranch, the Reservoir Mogs Southern Chapter are being little angels. Back home, I wake at 3am with a temperature and the most awful stomach pains. Just before I pass out near the bathroom, I wonder if that academic is studying some bizarre voodoo cult... come round to the reception committee of scared cats, daft dog and Mum with the fix-everything cup of tea. Finally see the bright side of her moving back to my house for a bit :)

Thursday: 9am, feel ok and go to work to fix the pesky voodoo academic once and for all, tuna or no tuna! 11am, sent home by boss. She doesn't say if it is the pallor or the murder plot which disturbs her most. So I spend time with the cats. Sophie and Scott have a house full of crime novels, but I feel sick and lazy. We enjoy a pleasant evening with an end-of-term feel about it. They appear to understand the phrase "your mum and dad are back tomorrow", and Boyfriend Cat shows up for a final spot of supper with me. And no, I can't take him home.

Friday: spend the morning in my GP's surgery and in the local outpatients! Doc H decides that heavy-duty medication and a bloodtest is necessary. Don't dare do the Tony Hancock joke about nearly an armful, as everyone in the room is way younger than me, and classic comedy may not be their thing. Sophie and Scott are back and I'm delighted the cats have not killed each other or trashed the house - result! My cats are puzzled at the amount of time I've spent with them today, but not really complaining. They just don't know about the significance behind the fresh tuna steaks...