This evening the Ginger Ninja has been renamed the Ginger Demon. Oh he’s full of beans my boy; the joys of spring in this unseasonably warm December have energised him and all he wants to do is play, play, play.
I arrived home to find bits of jigsaw scattered across the carpet. I suppose it had to happen. A Christmas bell had been knocked from its hook, there were pawprints in the kitchen sink, and the laptop was upside down on the floor. I couldn’t be cross with him; he was so very pleased to see me. As I took my coat off and changed my good cardigan for a jumper that is more forgiving of cat fur, he jumped up to be as close to my face as he could get. Big cuddles, then I fished the feather toy out from its cunning hiding place, and we played. He hadn’t eaten for hours, but food was a long way down the list of things he wanted to do.
This morning he nearly made me late for work. Fifteen angonising minutes in the garden while he chased squirrels and sat on inaccessibly high branches in the cherry tree. Fortunately I am one of those who tends to allow a large margin of time to get anywhere, but as a train and other people were involved, my anxiety levels were getting dangerously high.
Two of those people were from Australia. A couple from Sidney. She had broken her heel getting out of a taxi just as she arrived home from an adventurous visit to somewhere I didn’t catch. At Waterloo station, her husband strode ahead to the front carriage of the train. Don’t you want to get on before that? I asked. Yes, she said, he drives me mad at times. Then in explanation, he’s an engineer. Continue reading