It has come to my attention that I have failed to share with you my shadows. So I think I need to introduce you to two of my best mates: Kiki and Khufu- the Siamese cats.
Named after famous Egyptians, and oh boy, they deserve the accolade. If you are of the generation of ‘Lady and the Tramp’ you will already have a head start on what my little tykes are like. Spot on naughty. Adorable. Demanding. Regal. Beautiful. In your face – literally. And oh so intelligent. Just don’t drink a cuppa here without your hand over your cup – Kiki has a penchant for foil balls. He plays fetch. Relentlessly. If you ignore him, it is dropped in your cuppa. Deliberately. Regardless of how much debris it has collected, it is aimed and dropped. He has learnt how to say ‘no’ and does so frequently: ‘Kiki, come here’, ‘Kiki, get out’ (of the cupboard), ‘Kiki, bugger off’. All are answered with ‘no’ and piercing blue eyes search into your very soul. He opens cupboard doors, he sits on the plates, he licks the butter, he pinches your yoghurt – all of which are done with the loudest purr in the animal kingdom. He’s learnt this disarming technique. I melt and am hopeless. He is hyperactive and LOVES attention- classic ADHD.
Khufu, on the other hand is autistic. Very autistic. He hides if he is scared. He stares. He flops on the floor in front of you when you are carrying 3 baskets of laundry, and is MORTIFIED if he is trodden on. He has the most mournful miaow I’ve ever heard in my life and he has a thing about polythene. He sucks it, he eats it, he chews it, he vomits it up. Mostly when we are eating. On the table, if he so wishes. He sits on things too. Computers. Papers. He reads through his bottom. Laundry. Phones.
I’ve given up trying to remove my plate at meal times away from their paws. I was ending up starving and felt like I was a cruelty case as the little darlings scoffed my food. I could only eat standing up with my dinner tucked under my chin with scrawny paws flailing at the plate. I gave in. They have their own plate of fish now on the table at dinner time. It stinks like shite and turns our stomachs as we tuck into our own meals. But hey, they are happy, and I get to eat with the family.
I’m typing this whilst extracting my iPad from sleeping, contented, bottom reading, furry pawed body warmers. I wish I was a cat.