Misty's Diary: I did try to be nice

Another entry from Misty’s diary, following our return from holiday.

April 2014

So the domestic staff’s back. Just as well. These jaunts to strange places are just disruptive and ought to be discouraged.

And what a strange place they went to this time! Tunisia. OK, so it’s practically nothing but coastline and the fish, I understand is good, but the cats are a mangy lot for the most part, leading a claw to jaw existence. You can trust me when I say that’s a lot worse than hand to mouth for both the perpetrator and the victim.

I don’t understand why the domestics don’t just settle down and enjoy life at home. After all, so much is just as it should be here. There’s a box full of food, and however much I eat of it, it keeps filling up again. OK, I have to remind the staff from time to time to move some from box to bowl, but domestic 2’s pretty smart about that if I remind him hard enough.

I did try to persuade them to take me with them. 
Just so they didn't get lonely. Personally, I prefer home

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about the service when they’re away. They get domestic 3 in when they clear off, and she’s fun. It’s true she tosses around in bed a lot, which is a pain in the backside, sometimes literally, and instead of learning to stop when I bite her feet, she just chucks me out, which feels like insult on top of injury. But mostly she’s fine: she knows who’s boss, and when I drive the bloody dog Janka off the sofa to reclaim my rightful place, she just laughs – a good, sensible reaction.

Even so, it’s nice to get 1 and 2 back. So nice in fact that the morning after they came home, I was my winsome best with domestic 2. Not so much cat as puss, if you get my meaning. Pretty damn adorable, if I say so myself.

Me being winsome to Domestic 2, in bed

Hamfisted stroking. 
I only let him get away with it because I was feeling winsome

But he’s hopeless. Clumsy oaf. Left my bowl empty all afternoon. Domestic 1 wouldn’t let me on her knees while we were watching TV so I had to use his lap and, honestly, the guy is hopeless. Fidgeting. Moving his right foot over his left foot, then his left foot over his right. Practically throwing me off by moving his knees apart, then nearly squishing my fine food-filled stomach when he remembered and moved them together again.

Putting up with the lap of Domestic 2
Only if the Head Domestic's not available

I had to go and lie next to him on the couch instead. And even then he came up with some silly comment about “don’t be so bad-tempered” when I drove the bloody dog off it. 

Bad-tempered? Does the dog honestly think she has the right to lie on the couch when I need it? What kind of entitled thinking is that?

Why, domestic 2’s lucky I let even him share the couch with me.

Then he tried to make good by stroking me. It was no use though. It was that cackhanded, hamfisted style of his, far too fast, far too clumsy. I’d let him get away with it in bed in the morning, but by the evening I’d had enough. And he’d made the mistake of wearing a short-sleeved shirt. A joy when you’ve got claws and jaws. Did I get him!

Don't get casual with me, mate. Or cast aspersions

Winsomeness? Forget it. A puss? That’s for the birds. I’m a cat. The birds are for me.

Normal service resumed, in other words.