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The tom cat is back.

It won’t actually come into my kitchen any more since our last meeting.
Well it has not come in yet, who knows about the future.

For now it stands on the lawn and stares at us.

I am fairly sure this is the reason my cat is pulling all it’s fur out. She stopped for a couple of days but has just started again.

This is in part my fault, part Prole1’s fault and mostly the tom cat’s fault.

Following an emergency surgery session on our house me and the Proles have been on a clean up detail for most of the day.
There was sawdust, wood shavings and plaster dust all over the place as well as dozens of old loose screws that had for the most part just dropped out of the splintered woodwork.
The pieces I had mended it with were a mixture of what I found around the house and shed and a scrap piece from the local woodyard.
I am going to have to look at it all again one day but it’s holding so far.

We went surf life saving at the pool today which broke everything up.
Prole2’s second session and he was excited beyond words.
He had a brilliant time.
I did not.
He spent the whole time looking around, seeing what was going on while small children churned past him like small torpedoes.
He fell off swell boards, he dropped balls, he sank several times.
He only managed to do one length of the pool without stopping for a chat, check what everyone else was doing, examine the ropes between the lanes or just forget whatever he was doing and turn round and go back for more instructions.
He also seemed to think that doggy paddle was the best stroke to adopt in the pursuit of surf rescue.

He was having a ball.
I was having kittens.
I know he can swim.
I know he can do it.

I also knew that bellowing across the pool at him was probably not the best way to do it.
I sat for an hour watching through my fingers.
Still, let’s not crush his sporting aspirations.

Prole1 was great. His impersonation of a drowning victim was, if anything, a little too good for me but I can’t fault him for getting into the role.

I tried to help Prole2 take his goggles off in the male changing room but managed to pull his hair and make him cry.
I felt awful and determined not to interfere again.
Prole1 said he would take care of it so I waited outside.
It is odd to think of them as a small team, helping each other get dressed without me.
Being in the corridor seemed like a long way away.
They changed, came out and we headed home again.

Prole1 helped to sweep up. He did the kitchen and the stairs and swept it all out the back door.
Obviously as soon as he had finished and was not looking I did it all again but it was the principle of the thing I admired.
I had less admiration for Prole2 who spent a disproportionate amount of time ‘tidying’ his lego away. It seemed to take a very long time for not much result.
Still, let’s not stifle his creativity.

When Prole1 had finished sweeping he left the broom outside.
He had used our white broom, with the stiff bristles.
I could not find it so I finished off with the red broom, with the soft bristles.

A lot of my professional life was spent thinking about brooms, while I am far from satisfied with the ones we have I am not sure I could survive with only one broom.

What with one thing and another this afternoon I needed to sweep up again.

Wordwitch was coming round again for cookery club and we just needed to lose the ‘all boys together in a house’ tint that the kitchen had.
Her session was a good one as it happened.
Prole2’s gingerbread man production line began to resemble an Anthiny Gormley installation on the kitchen table.
Prole1 showed off his trophy and recited his weak out speech from school. (I don’t know what’s so special, I think I know it off by heart as well now.)
We ate biscuits and they had a folk dance with socks session in the front room.
Anyway she was coming and we needed to spruce up.

I stepped outside with some re-cycling and found the white broom by the back door.

Quick once around the kitchen and I was starting to load the dishwasher when I smelled it.
That tang of tom cat.

I started sniffing round the room.

I could not locate it.
It was coming from somewhere but I could not tell where.
The floor? Yes maybe.
The kitchen cabinets? Yes, I think perhaps…
My clothes? Had the horrible feline got my clothes somehow?
Why did my hands smell?

What on earth was going on? He seemed to have gone everywhere.
It was even on the broom.

The broom.

It had sprayed on the broom.

The broom had been outside all night and a cat had sprayed on it.

The broom I had just swept the whole of the kitchen with?

I had to put all my clothes in the wash, forbid the Proles from going into the Kitchen, bleach and mop the whole of the kitchen and hallway.

I hate that cat.

 

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