monday monday

Greg is not working tomorrow, and neither am I. Both the boys are back at school. Will we have enough energy to do anything besides nap on the sofa? That remains to be seen.

Maybe we can take a ride somewhere. Or a run. We're slightly behind in our training for the half marathon. Although we haven't decided which one we're going to do yet, so I suppose we can't technically be behind, and even if we were, were not as behind as I thought we might be by now.  

Mycroft and Sherlock did some training with me in the park once or twice. Mycroft keeps a steady pace and he's fit enough, but I think he finds running terribly boring (which, to be fair, it sort of is, in a way). Sherlock will run circles around me (literally) and then flop down, exhausted, in the grass. I think the dogs could outrun all of us.    

I was looking at that one in France again. I find myself unable to deny that it is very definitely in the mountains. Up some of them and down others. Also, on a trail and not on a road. Perhaps something different for our first race. Something shorter? Maybe something that the boys could do with us if they want to. Anyhow, it's good to have something to work toward.

Perhaps we could just go to France and not run at all...

2am wakings with a small cat

Went to sleep with a cat on my head as usual. Woke up with her gone, which was nice. Wearing a fur hat to bed gets a little warm. We're going to have a problem in the summer. I was up for a while, went to make tea in the kitchen.

As I was waiting for the kettle to boil, the cabinet door opened ever so slowly, and Maf stepped out onto the top of my head. She stood there for a second and then sat down and hung her tail in my face. Given she can barely make it up onto the bed, I have no idea how she got in the cabinets. And I hope we're not going to find little piles of cat hair in there now.

Anyhow, we watched some tennis I'd recorded (Federer v Djokovic in Monte Carlo, Federer won), and I thought about things. She probably did too, but did not share her thoughts.

Did you know that Gabriel García Márquez died a few days ago? There's a quote from One Hundred Years of Solitude that I think about fairly often. A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground. What if you think of it the other way around? If someone you cared for has died in a place, does that mean part of you belongs there? Does part of you stay behind and make a home there? We're supposed to carry the dead in our hearts, but what if they carry us?

I think Maf was probably considering how to bend the dogs to her will and use them as portable heating pads, which makes her far more sensible than I am.

three cats

My husband keeps silently meowing at me. He did it once in unison with Maf and has not stopped since. Says he caught it off her and she's clearly contagious. He appears to be right, since Sherlock has started doing it too.

And climbing trees and climbing Greg and getting his face in everyone else's food, but that's more or less normal behaviour...

We went to the park, well, various parks, looking for frogs, playing free-form rugby with the dogs, and now L and Mycroft are conferring about dinner. L is still trying to meow silently at me, but he makes himself laugh every time now. And me. And Sherlock. And Mycroft looks to Maf for sympathy. They are now the two most dignified people in the flat.

Also I caught her riding a dog earlier today.

foxes and peacocks

 A peacock from the park, photo by Mycroft. And L sent me one of his cockney fox, for anyone who was wondering what it looked like...

This post is going to have very little actual content, just to warn you. Apart from the pictures. Which I didn't even take.

Sherlock is completely manic about being off of school, bouncing off the walls, sometimes literally. Races with the dogs, playing with the kitten until she is worn out (which takes some doing), dissecting a stick of butter (don't ask), inserting cloves into the middles of all the grapes (you can ask, but I have no answers). Mycroft retreated to his room by two this afternoon, and I don't blame him. Of course, maybe it was tactical, since I did then get a short break while Sherlock sat outside his door and demanded to be let in.

S: Let me innnnnnn.

M: No.

S: Whyyyyyyy?

M: Because.

S: Whyyyyyy?

Repeat ad nauseum. If it was on purpose, Mycroft, thank you. I sat down for five minutes. It was lovely.

maftet

This is Maftet when I found her. She's much cleaner now. She was hiding under a bin. Near the scene of a murder, yes, but not actually in it. Sherlock was disappointed to learn she didn't eat any of the body. The rest of us were relieved. Although if she had, you could hardly blame her. She was clearly hungry. Poor skinny little thing.

I didn't really check her for fleas before I picked her up and tucked her in my jacket. Just got lucky. Maybe she hadn't been a stray for long. She seemed friendly enough. Still does, despite minor damage done to L's hand...

I am definitely not spoiling her, don't listen to him. She needs toys just as much as the dogs do. And maybe if she has a bed she'll be less likely to want to sleep wrapped around my head. I worry I might roll over on her. Greg claims to worry she'll take his eye out in the middle of the night.

She and the dogs are still wary of each other. Deimos tried to play with her earlier and knocked her over. With his tongue. She puffed up and hissed, and they both ran away, Deimos to hide behind the sofa and Maftet to hide on my shoulder. It's going to be interesting, by which I mean painful, the first time she tries to climb me when I'm not fully dressed.

Anyhow, she's in and out and down with Mrs Hudson or security half the day. Greg still refers to her as 'my' cat (or my pussy...), but she's not really. We do seem to be keeping her though.