Arriving home from work the other day after 14 hours of being out (3 hours traveling time, 8 hours work, 3 hours shopping) I failed to be greeted by my trusty cat. Hmm. Surely the cat has not gone off me as well. After all, Sexy Guy had a mad burst last Sunday with 4 phone calls and 30 texts and even Mr. H. sent me a message to ask if I was ignoring him. But the cat has always been the more reliable of the three.
Now the cat has one of those daft names that make you feel like a complete pratt when you shout for her on the street. Or people think you are deranged and shouting for the caffeine beverage of your choice. So it is possible she couldn't hear me whispering her name for the sound of the traffic going down the nearby highway. And I'm ashamed to say I gave up quite easily, slammed the door shut and decided she could bloomin' well stay out all night.
And Red Fox gets ready for bed, slips between the sheets, spits out cat hair, and then has a brainwave. Ah ha. Earlier that day, around 6 a.m. or so, Cat No. 2 decided she needed to look in my undie drawer. Being the accommodating cat mother that I am, I pulled out the drawer, let her look in, and then pushed it back in. Hmm. I did hear a noise above my head when I was in the kitchen this morning and why on earth I would think it was a gigantic squirrel on the roof I've no idea (but I did). Wonder if Cat No. 1 also decided to take a look in there?
Crawl out of bed, pull open drawer and voila. One cat. Wearing my underwear.
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