Easy As Falling Off a Bike pt 3143

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The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike, est. 2007)
Part 3143
by Angharad

Copyright© 2017 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.
*****

Sunday morning arrived and started off fairly bright—the problem is now with the equinox fast arriving it gets light just after six—and I did contemplate getting up early and going out on the bike. However, a trip to the loo meant I heard the wind whistling round the house and I went back to bed.

Simon, as usual, was snoring his head off and I decided I’d be better off getting up and making some tea—when in doubt, put the kettle on. It was just coming to the boil when Tom came in. “Whit’re ye daein’ up?”

“Simon is snoring reveille, or some such thing.”

He chuckled, “Aye, I heard him.” He drank a cup of coffee as soon as his machine had warmed up and we sat talking for a short while.

“Something on yer mind?” he said sipping his caffeine fix.

“I wonder if I’m really cut out to be a professor.”

“Whit for d’ye say that?”

“First off; I don’t think I’m very good at it; second, I’m not sure how much I’m enjoying it and wonder if I’d be happier counting dormice again instead of contracts.”

“Ye’re daein’ okay, an’ I’m no the only one tae think sae.”

“Who’s the other, Kiki?”

“She’s one o’ them,” he replied laughing and the dog as if recognising her name shoved her wet nose into my hand. I patted her on the head as much to dry my hand as a gesture of affection. Then the feline demon appeared and jumped onto my lap bouncing off the dog’s head en route. Kiki yelped in surprise and ran under the table, while her attacker sat on my lap and purred, rubbing her head against my boob.

“All right, I’ll feed you in a moment,” I said which got my other boob head butted by the purring pestilence. She usually sleeps on Trish’s bed—the two Napoleons of crime together—but she must have heard me coming downstairs and she loves her tum even more than she does Trish; which in my experience makes her a typical cat.

Tom went off to walk the dog while I fed the anorexic ailuros before going to my study with a fresh cuppa and a digestive biscuit. Bramble followed me and as soon as I sat down she hopped up onto my lap and began her ablutions. I pushed her off twice but she just hopped back up and eventually ran out of places to lick. After a convulsion involving her entire alimentary canal, emerging as a burp, she looked up at me, sneezed and curled up still purring.

“Would you believe I’m doing all right as a professor, kiddle,” I said to her. In reply she purred even louder and stuck her claws in my leg, in a gesture of affection—or so she’d say if asked. I said, “Ouch,” and she closed her other toes up before opening them again. She was full of food, warm and I presume comfortable. My computer eventually booted up and instead of checking emails, I went to the Guardian website and started the Everyman cryptic crossword puzzle. The only noises I could hear were the cat purring and the wind blowing a hooley so I was able to concentrate the few active brain cells I had and get stuck into the clues.

Trish came down about twenty minutes later and spotting the cat on my lap declared she was a floozy. I smirked but tried not to let her see it. She should know as well as I do by now, that cats are loyal to their own needs before anyone else’s and never to expect gratitude from one or you’ll be sadly disappointed. However, they do show affection, even if it’s probably designed to do enough to keep you on side. Having said that, if anyone is ill, she tends to come and sit with them. The question is whether she’s doing so to make them feel better or waiting for them to die and then she’d have several days of fresh meat.

While Trish stood alongside me stroking her unfaithful feline, I finished the crossword and after disturbing said moggie, we all three went into the kitchen and had breakfast, the cat cadging a drop of lactose free milk, for which she’ll sell her soul.

“Why are you up so early, Mummy?” she asked snaffling a piece of my toast and banana.

“I couldn’t sleep with Daddy’s snoring.”

“Oh, he does make a noise, can’t you stuff your ears with something?”

“What, like ear plugs?”

“Yeah, that sorta thing.”

“All I can hear then is my own heart beat, which is as bad as the snoring.”

“Oh. You could always come in with me.”

“That would disturb you.”

“I don’t mind, Mummy.”

“No, but I do and you need your sleep at your age,” I said yawning.

“Looks like you do too, Mummy.”

“Right, go up and wash and dress and you can help me do the laundry.”

“Do I have to?” she whined.

“No you don’t have to, but I thought you liked helping me?”

“All right,” she huffed, “I’ll help you,” and was gone before I could say she didn’t need to if she didn’t want to. Some days I can’t do right for doing wrong.

As she washed and dressed I collected the dirty linen and took it down to the utility room and began to sort it into whites and coloureds. She arrived in the middle of this and seeing what I was doing dug in and helped me. I Ieft her to it and went off to set up the ironing board to do some of the mound of ironing that had apparently been breeding in the basket by the door of the utility room.

“Can I do some of that?” asked Trish, ironing for her was still a novelty.

“Let me do Daddy’s shirts first and you can do some of the bedding.”

“Okay, want some more tea?”

“That would be very nice, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she said going into the kitchen to refill the kettle and boil it.

On her own she’s as good as gold and seems to enjoy doing things with me, probably because she gets all my attention. If any of the others are about, she become competitive and tempers fray rather quickly—especially mine.

I finished the last shirt and put it on a coat hanger to go up to Simon’s wardrobe later. Then I sorted out some pillow cases and handed them to her. “There ya go, just be careful and not burn yourself or the clothing.”

“I won’t, Mummy. If I can score goals for the school, I’m sure I can do a bit of ironing without burning either myself or the pillow case. I’m not stupid you know.”

“I know that very well, young lady.”

“Did you hear that thing on the radio earlier?”

“Which thing was that, sweetheart?”

“Bristol is the happiest place to live in Britain.”

“No wonder I feel miserable down here, let’s all move back to Bristol,” I joked and she thought I was serious—took me some while to convince her it was just a jest.

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Comments

Haven't they heard of no-iron sheets?

It would save alot of work. Really, considering her wealth, there's no reason she can't have a laundry service take care of it.

Well Hon......

D. Eden's picture

There are a lot of things I could afford as well, like a maid service to clean my house weekly - but that doesn't mean that I want to do it. Although like most people I look on it as a chore or perhaps a necessary evil, I prefer to do it myself. The same is true of my laundry, which I also do myself - excepting of course the dry cleaning.

Sometimes you take a simple pleasure in doing the mundane tasks required by life, especially as they fill up what would otherwise be some very lonely and depressingly empty time.

D

D. Eden

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus

Bamboo - great for the environment

Hey, the latest thing is no iron sheets made from bamboo ! They cost nothing and feel like the most expensive linen sheets.
Until you try them, you won't believe them !

Karen

Ironing is the least favorite

Ironing is the least favorite thing on my list, even though it does have to be done on occasions. I do draw the line on sheets, pillow cases and similar items however and was very happy when no-iron items such as these came on the market. When it comes to clothing however, even those labeled 'no-iron required' do on many instances required a little touch up to look nice.
Or is it all in the eye of beholder?

We moved to Bristol only last year.

I must confess, there seems to be a strong community spirit of co-operation and identity. Drivers also seem to be more courteous and co-operative. Strangely it is also reputed to be the second most expensive city after London to buy a house so I've no exact idea why people are so happy.
still lovin' it Ang, and thanks again for the continued pleasures.
xx

bev_1.jpg

Nice to see

the other side of Trish's nature, Its something i am sure Cathy would love to see more of , Although having said that perhaps a good all the time Trish would be an even bigger worry than the occasionally naughty one, Given the size of her brain you would have to think she was planing something big .... Prime Minister Tricia Cameron maybe ? ...

Kirri