I hate fireworks

Saturday October 28, 2006

Very little to show for my day today, or to report on it. I kept on with the laundry, determined to have an empty basket before Graham returns tomorrow. I’d separated out the several piles of like things well enough but was left with two small stacks, both of which were less than a minimum load. Things I’d ideally rather not wash together. Don’t you hate it when that happens? I picked through them, determined that there was nothing likely to leach colour and stuck them in willy-nilly, along with a dose of in-wash ‘colour bleach’ to sort out the discrepancy. Got away with it.

Exciting stuff, huh? Well, no, but it’s the stuff of life, one of those boring things that have to be done. Like taking an old toothbrush and a bit of detergent to that bit of grouting between kitchen tiles that’s been bothering you for far too long. Sad? Probably.

Best not to think about it, I suppose.

I got the vacuum out, did the top floor, and then lugged it down to the middle floor, to be greeted by a Dolly who really, really didn’t want to be disturbed. She was all snug and cwtch in her armchair and gave me one of those impossible to resist looks, her head tucked well in and upside down. The looks that says “You’re not really going to make that horrid noise in here, are you?”

So I didn’t. I stood the cleaner in the corner, gave her a comforting scritty-scratch, and toddled off to my own bed for a late morning nap I hadn’t earned at all. From the kitchen came the sound of the washer gently chundering through my last load of washing. From the top floor front bedroom we use as a store-room came the sound of the drier gently chundering away at the previous load. I can’t tuck my head in the way Dolly does, but I did the best I could.

In the evening came the far less than gentle sound of a massive public firework display held in the recreation ground a couple of streets away. Dolly came to sit with me on the sofa, just for company, you understand, and to support me in my intense dislike of fireworks. Not that she’s bothered, of course. Those anxious looks at the windows as the sky rattles aren’t for her sake, they’re for mine. And the firm nudge she gives me when she thinks it about time I hand out another scritty-scratch, that’s for my sake, too, let there be no mistake. A mega-cat is not frightened of fireworks. Not at all.

Lordy but I hate fireworks.

 

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