You Dirty Rat

It's weeks now since Twiglet carried out her own catch-and-release programme on a rat. She caught it outdoors and released it in the kitchen.

Eventually it was murdered by the pest controller. I phoned the company (KnowHow - hello, nothing good to say about you) that provides the insurance on my ravaged dishwasher. First they said it wasn't covered because it was rodent infestation. Then they decided a one-off wasn't infestation. But the engineer didn't have the necessary parts. They were ordered and when they arrived I got a message to make an appointment. The first available when I could be there was last Friday.

They texted me the night before - a time between 8.50 and 12.50.

They didn't show up.

A phone call with 10,000,000 "press this key, press that key" options led me to someone who said the appointment had been cancelled! "They've been trying to phone you". No. My phone didn't ring while I was sitting next to it. There were no missed calls on the mobile. And no, your next non-working day of next Tuesday is not available.

Eventually they managed to book me a morning appointment for next Tuesday, but I have few hopes they will bother to turn up. After all, this is insurance. They already have my money. And it was my fault that they only allowed an hour for the visit, and the engineer said he needed more.

Couldn't be their fault, could it?

Pissed off? Moi?

Smile

Handsome is as handsome ... is.

All kitties great and small

It seems to me that I don't have many pictures of my one remaining cat, Twiglet. I've started to remedy that.

As she spends most of her time now on my bed, I didn't have much choice of scene.





She looks pretty grumpy, but she's actually one of the best-natured cats imaginable.

Then there are the tigers. I didn't get any pictures of the cubs on Friday because they chose to sit in one of those places that makes photos difficult to take. But mum and dad were quite co-operative.

Jae-Jae looks stern but majestic

Until he yawns...

Meanwhile Melati takes advantage of her rest from her young'uns to have a wash.

Slither

Ooh, super-creepy episode. Super-lovely Bobby.
 

Mum of One

On November 17th I lost my darling Jaspa at the age of 20yrs 8mths. She was very poorly, and had probably had a second stroke on the day I came home from work to find her in a state of total collapse.

 

 

This is how my lovely girl looked on her 20th birthday. She was painfully thin, but was still enjoying her rather limited life.

 

Now she's gone, down from 7 cats, I only have one, 15-year-old Twiglet.

 

 

 

 

Here she is snuggling up her large frame with Jaspa in happier times. She is a lovely girl.

 

Twiglet brought me in a present a few weeks ago in her latest catch-and-release programme. Not the usual mouse, but a rat. It escaped under a kitchen cabinet and down into the cellar. I tried to catch it in a humane trap, but it wasn't interested in the lovely foods I offered it, preferring to eat its way through foam insulation and pipe lagging, electrical cord and plastic drainage pipe, leaving my dishwasher unusable and the floor flooded.

 

The first pest controller, sent by an insurer I've been paying good money to for years, refused to go down into the cellar, backing off with fear in his eyes and yelling "health and safety, health and safety". This is because he would have to lower himself through an opening on to a step ladder - no danger of falling, as he could easily hold on to the edge of the hatch. Once down there, there is no tiny cramped space, but the full size of the house. But he claimed he might get stuck. No doubt going into a loft area to destroy a wasp's nest would have produced a similar reaction. Maybe he should consider a change of career.

 

I called in a company of my own, and a man twice his size in every direction inspected the area and left the dreaded poison. Eventually an unpleasant smell permeated the house, which I presumed to be mummifying rat. He had to hunt quite extensively for it, as it had tucked itself away into one of its many nests high in a corner. And the insurance company has paid me the fee I had to fork out on my own behalf.

 

Even the company supposedly repairing the dishwasher initially said it wasn't covered because the damage was caused by "rodent infestation". When I pointed out that such an exclusion didn't appear on my policy, they decided that it wasn't an actual infestation (which would have counted as "neglect", I kid you not!) if it was just one rat brought in by a cat. They will pay. Yippee.

 

Then I'll have to persuade a further insurance company to pay for the flooring to be replaced. No chance this will all be done before Christmas.

Siren Call

That neck still does it for me.

Silver Lining

Remember that luscious tongue we all used to gag for?

Silencer

Big, beefy, burly, broad-shouldered, brown-eyed...

 

Shrink-Wrapped

Classic Bobby. Ahhh, such fond memories.

Shibboleth

I actually used the word "shibboleth" the other day.

Gotta love that profile. And the hair - wish he'd stop letting himself be scalped.

Time to get up already?

The London Zoo tiger cubs and their mum spent most of a very warm and summery Halloween asleep on a wall behind some trees, showing barely a stripe to the visitors.

When the day was getting close to its end, they appeared.

Look, mum, I'm awake, mum, MUM!

I caught this giant yellow worm, but I can't get it out of the ground.

It's mine now. Damn, dropped it!

 

Got it back! Now to turn a hose into a sprinkler!

 

While those immature idiots play, I think I'll take a drink from mum and dad's bath.

 

I think this is my best side.

 

At last, I've got rid of them so I can have a preen. Honestly, a mother's work is never done.

I remember

Yes, I do. I am not losing my marbles. Yet. Not all of them anyway.

I volunteered to take part in a memory and dementia study for Imperial College, London. On Monday I had an interview with the researcher, and the was put through my paces by a psychologist.

When my mother's memory started to get suspect, I remember sitting through an interview she had with her doctor, so I thought I knew what to expect. But it was so much more. To name a few:

Count back in 7s from 100.
Repeat back stories.
Copy diagrams.
Draw line drawings from memory.
Repeat lists of nouns.
Repeat ever-lengthening lists of numbers; then repeat them backwards!

I did pretty well in most categories, though repeating six or seven numbers backwards got a bit difficult. But she had to stop me repeating the 100-minus-seven numbers because she'd never had someone do it so fast, and she didn't have enough of them written down to check against!

My main problem continues to be names. When I think about it, though, that's a skill I've never been great at. So I guess I'm not coming down with Alzheimer's yet. I'll just wait and see how the genetic test comes out, and whether they want me to have an MRI scan.

Very interesting.

Shandeh

Who cares that all the other characters are so objectionable when Bobby looks like this?

Sex Club

The only sex club I want to join would have Vincent as a sex toy.

 

Semi-Professional

Finally, after restarting myriad times and trying 3 browsers, plus copying all my files to a spare drive, I have got online and can create a proper post for today.

And what's not to love?

A Holiday to Remember

Back in the early 1980s I had a call from a friend who was working in Scotland to say he was coming to London. He was collecting a friend en route and wanted to pick me and a female friend up and take us to Brighton for the day. I had a pair of opera tickets for myself and another friend for that night. They were waiting for us at the theatre. I agreed to the trip as long as he got me back home in time. After all, Brighton is only 70 miles or so from London.

On the day, I got a phone call (from a callbox, no mobile phones then) at around 11am to say the friend had wanted to detour via Harrods, as he'd never been to the prestigious store.

They rolled up at some time after midday, then we went on to collect the other friend, who invited us in for tea and cakes.

I'm not sure when we arrived in Brighton or how long it took us to park. We had a stroll along the front, bought some sticks of rock, then found a cafe for a light meal.

On the way out of town we got stuck in a traffic jam, but eventually I got home and rushed in for a wash, a change of clothes and a layer of makeup. I phoned the theatre to make arrangements for my friend to pick up her ticket. I then jumped into my car and drove into central London...where I couldn't find a parking space. I put the car outside the stage door of the theatre, threw my keys at the duty fireman, who was also a friend, and he parked it for me while I went and got my ticket. 

I sat in my seat at 7.25 for a 7.30 start.

It was my only holiday that year, and one I'll never forget.

Semi-Detached

The stubbly look before he becomes entranced with that nasty witch is far more attractive than the smooth look he adopts when he takes her out.

Self Made

And so our man gets his own back on daddy.

Mothers and Babies

Oh dear. Photobucket wouldn't let me display my new photos, so to get the best view, click on the pics.

At last mummy tamarin has her twins  with her.

Doesn't last though. The aunties want their turn.

Tiger mother with two of her cubs relax in the sun.

 

After a drop of rain mum decided to give the cubs a lick'n'dry.

 

 

Meanwhile dad was dozing with a stone pillow.

 

 

 

Seizure

Bobby's wondering - this is just before he cuts his hand to make the suspect faint! Suspicion confirmed.