Little Sod

I think that The Cat missed us while we were away last week. Since coming back, there hasn’t been a night where he hasn’t spent time snoring between us. Last night had an added joy – my leg was obviously in the exact position where the aggressive bugger wanted to sleep. Well, if it wasn’t, it certainly was as soon as he saw my leg was there.

So he decided to attack it, sticking his claws in, to get me to move. This is not an unknown tactic with The Cat. When he does it to Herself, she moves. When he does it to me, he flies. The problem with this last night was that The Cat landed on Herself. And bit her. At three in the morning. Oops.

Cat is slowly learning that I’m not to be attacked. If he does attack me, he goes flying. Not hard – but hard enough that he generally falls off the bed. This has been a learning curve for The Cat.

It’s a battle of wills. Only time will decide the victor.

Domestic Life

It’s been four months now since I moved in with Herself. A third of a year. Which seems like as good an opportunity as any to take a bit of stock of how the year’s going, and how we’re going.

And I have to say, it’s pretty good. In fact, the worst aspect of the move so far has been the job – and that’s not the fault of Herself at all. I made a fairly bad decision – the job, not the move – and it’ll get sorted. Just I’m going to take my time about it this time, and not dive into another mis-placed idea about work. Don’t believe the hype, and all that jazz. I’m in the process of looking, but it’s not at the point (and quite honestly, I don’t intend it to get to the point) where “anything’ll do, so long as it’s not here”. I want to be selective, to be picky, to take on something where I’m actually going to be challenged, rather than bored and ultimately uninterested.

Domestically though, it’s all good. We’re pretty much settled, and stuff has been distributed within the space. Having a widescreen TV in the bedroom is slightly decadent, but hell, why not. Books and bookcases have been sorted out, furniture has been placed, purchased, or chucked, and really it’s all looking pretty damn good at the moment.

The animals are settled, and have decided that (for the most part) they like me. Gawd knows why, I’m dead rotten to them a lot of the time – Hound sometimes gets called Fuckface, and (to my slight shame) is now beginning to respond to it. Cat is just a bastard, but seems to like being stroked, and sleeping on my face. OK, so that’s not ideal, but there we go. Could be worse – the little sod could still be trying to turn my legs into stumps. He tried that a couple of times, then realised that when he does it, he takes a flying lesson.

Herself – as my father observed during a conversation earlier this week – appears to have the sanity gene necessary when dealing with idiots like me. She can talk sense into me, making me see that it might be a better option to cycle 4ish miles a day and let the train do the tough bits, rather than my busting a gut with the entire route from day one. My mother has the same trait when dealing with my father. It’s necessary.

I’m still a messy sod, but even the worst excesses of that are getting tamed. Obviously there are things I do that annoy her – but equally there’s stuff that annoys me. It’s a mutual thing, a development, a relationship.

And that’s the thing – it IS a relationship. We know each other so well anyway, and yet with every day or week, we know each other better. I wonder how long that can keep on happening? We’ve both got ambitions, for ourselves, and for each other, and we’ll work towards achieving them.

On current evidence, we’re doing well – coming up to being together for a year – and it looks like that’s going to be the continued trend.

Four months in, and many more to go. Maybe even a lifetime, but who knows? Who can predict?