Jayeless

It’s been four days now since I cleaned up my room, and it seems that my cats are getting used to it just fine. If you’ll remember, my cats were initially unimpressed with the changes I made. “But… but that was my favourite hiding spot! You can’t do this to me!” “RAWR! I keel you, bed!” And so on.

It didn’t take long for them to change their minds. The evening after I did my big clean-out, Caper decided some serious exploration of my bedroom was in order.

(In case this entry is beginning to look suspicious, then yes, I confess! This entry is just an excuse to post lots of pictures of Caper. Cute ones, though… ) Read on…

I made the most of the second day of the holidays — and the glorious weather on that day — by cleaning. I cleaned a lot. I hadn’t meant to when I started out. I was just trying to put some books away which were cluttering up my desk and which were never going to get read. You know, books like Stalinism and After and, uh, King Lear. Those kinds of books. But then I realised just how much else there was cluttering my desk. Empty envelopes? Information about excursions some time in April? CDs I ripped ages ago and never listen to anyway? Letter-writing sets when I don’t write letters?

In the end, I worked myself into such a cleaning frenzy that, before I knew it, I was dragging heavy items of furniture around the room to get at what lurked underneath (and believe me, you do not want to know what lurked underneath). I even managed to snap my fan in half, so I might be in for an uncomfortable summer. And, sadly, I haven’t actually finished getting rid of all the junk in my room. The frenzy passed around the time I collapsed from sheer exhaustion, and it remains to be seen when (and/or if!) it comes back. Read on…

Cats don’t have consciences. Of course, I knew this before today, so it’s not exactly a revelation. It’s just that today I got a lot of proof.

Extremely early this morning (when I’d only been sleeping for an hour), my cats had a fight in my room. They always fight, because they hate each others’ guts, and usually the situation can be easily defused. I yell at Tigger (because Tigger’s always the aggressor), he scarpers, Caper sidles up for a cuddle to comfort herself, and all is well with the world. Tigger has obviously never felt any guilt about it, but what happened in today’s fight was — to me — so horrifying that, just today, it rankles. Read on…