The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2837 by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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It was Saturday again, good, I needed a lie in, however what I needed and what a certain psychopathic moggie needed was obviously different because One of the girls opened my bedroom door and this frenzied flash of feline fur shot through, bounced off my head onto Simon’s groin and back out the door again before I could work out what happened.

A moment later it happened again and I just had time to pull the duvet over my head before the clomp of cat clogs careered off me and onto Simon’s groin, he immediately sat up swearing and then went off to the bathroom.

“Could you feed her while you’re up, darling?”

“Feed her, I’ll wring her bloody neck if she comes within catching distance.”

She did but he couldn’t lay a finger on her, she’d got up to full speed and gave a good impression of a wall of death rider as she appeared to be running round the walls, knocking things off the dressing table and the bedside cupboards. After the DAB radio alarm went flying I decided I needed to sort the problem myself as Simon’s attempt at intervention only appeared to make her worse.

So at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning I was feeding her and waiting for the kettle to boil. Simon came down yawning, wearing jeans and a pullover—so it really must be the weekend. “There she is, little sod.”

“Without language she has to let us know in other ways that she wants her breakfast.”

“I’d have thought learning to talk took less energy than the blitzkrieg that just happened upstairs.”

“It might but that was her workout for the day, she’ll sleep for hours after eating.” I noticed the tip of her tail quivering as if she could understand what I’d just said and was agreeing. “They do have some form of language.”

“Yeah, bloody meow.”

“That’s an attempt to communicate with humans, they apparently don’t do to other cats.”

“Well if it’s meant to mean something to me, how come it doesn’t?”

I shrugged, “She presumably thinks that’s your problem.”

“She’ll have one of her own in a moment, I’m going to put her out in the rain, see how she communicates then.” So saying he lumbered towards her but before he could bend to grab her she was off, straight through his legs and up the stairs.

“Make some tea, darling, I need a wee.” His grumbles were lost as I relieved myself and washed my hands, when I got back to the kitchen Julie and Phoebe were standing by the toaster waiting for it to char their bread. “Where’s my tea, didn’t you make any?”

“Ask Julie, she nabbed yours.”

“Feed the workers first,” she said and took another gulp of my tea.

“Cheeky sod,” I said switching the kettle back on. All she did was laugh.

“Could you make me one, too, Mummy?” asked Phoebe juggling with her pieces of cremated bread.

“Anybody else?” I asked rhetorically.

“Ooh yes please,” asked Danielle who just seemed to have materialised in her winter nightdress.

“What are you doing up?” I asked her as I poured another cup of tea.

“Away game,” she yawned.

“In all this rain?”

“Fraid so. There’ll be a pitch inspection but if we’re not there and the ref decides it’s playable we forfeit the game and the points.” She poured herself some cereal and took it and the mug of tea to the table.

The two older girls finished their toast, gulped down their drinks and pulling on coats walked towards the door. “You’re going early,” I remarked wondering if they thought the time was later than it actually was.

“Yeah, privilege of owning the business—cleaner’s off sick.”

“Would you like me to do you a sandwich?”

“Nah, we’ll grab one later.”

“I’ve got some shopping to do, I’ll try and drop one in for you.”

“That’s great, thanks, Mum.”

“Yeah thanks,” called Phoebe pulling her hood up over her head.

“Byeee,” they both shouted and the door slammed shut.

“You’ve really got to admire those two, they really get stuck in, don’t they?”

“I do admire both of them, neither is work shy and they seem to be building up quite a profitable business with regular clientele.”

“How many stylists have they got now?” he asked.

“Two I think,” I replied deciding the toast smelt so good I’d have a piece myself.

“Three,” corrected Danni, “Jade comes in most weeks.”

“How come she knows and you don’t?” asked Simon.

“She talks with her sisters more than I have time to.”

“Isn’t that telling you something?”

“If it is why isn’t it also telling you that you spend even less time with them than I do?”

“I’m the big bad bloke who goes off to work to keep my wife and daughters in the luxurious manner to which they’ve become accustomed.”

“Don’t make excuses, I work just as hard as you, dear.”

“Sure you do, I’m practically in the office when you’re getting up and I don’t finish until five most nights sometimes later.”

“It’s not my fault that you can’t work as fast as I do.” I said chuckling and inhaled a crumb of toast which then had me coughing.

Simon laughed, “Serves you right, see even god is on my side.”

“Yeah, well tell your imaginary friend if he does it again I’ll choke him.”

“Isn’t that, like blasphemy—to threaten God?” asked Danielle.

“Just because you go to a convent doesn’t mean you have to believe in fairies,” I replied.

“Oh dear, another one just died,” offered Simon.

“What?” I looked at him as if he was crazy—well he is but I only point it out when it’s to my advantage.

“A fairy.”

“Who is?” I felt my ire rising.

“What Peter Pan said, when you say you don’t believe in fairies another one dies.”

“I don’t.”

“There you just killed another one.”

“So it’s tough being a fairy, does it work for gods too, I wonder?”

“That is definitely blasphemy, Mummy. According to Sister Virginia...”

“According to Sister Vagina, what?” Danni roared with laughter so did Simon.

“What’s so funny—another fairy die?”

“No you called Sister Virginia, Sister Vagina.”

“Oh did I? Well it’s what you lot call her,” if you can’t win an argument by logic try bombast.

“No I didn’t,” Danni blushed.

“No matter, silly old twat,” I said and boiled the kettle for more tea. Danielle picked up my insult and was laughing like a drain, Oddly Simon had missed it. He probably wasn’t listening, he usually doesn’t unless he thinks I’m talking about him.

At this point down the stairs clomped the family equivalent of a SWAT team, Trish, Livvie, Hannah and Meems followed by Cate and Lizzie. What was nice was that Danielle didn’t need to be told to moderate her language in front of her younger sisters, she seemed to do it automatically just like an older girl would. She’s a real puzzle at times.

“Why are you all up?” asked Trish.

“Your flaming moggie, that’s why,” shot back Simon.

“She’s fast asleep on my bed, you sure it was her?”

Well if it was the dog, I’d have concussion now.