“Morning,” I say sleepily to MindReader, at 7 o’clock in the morning on our first work-Monday in January. When the mornings are as dark as this, we leave our wooden blinds open and watch the grey-pink dawn blush over the rooftops.
“Hello,” he says, pulling me close to him.
“I’m tired,” I say, as my teasmaid hisses to life, filling the room with the scent of strong coffee. “Shall I wear my white shirt or my green spotty pussy bow blouse?”
Just then we hear a thundering up the stairs. Benny is not a quiet cat. And is also a little bit crazy, it seems. He has mad hours, where his eyes go like saucers and he chases pencils and hides in the TV cabinet and uses the back and sides of the sofa as a race track while we sit there, sitting rigidly with our feet not touching the floor. The rest of the time he likes to be picked up a LOT, and sleep on the back of the sofa with his head on your shoulder, and wait quietly for you on the toilet lid while you have a bath.
“Meowwwwww,” Benny wails outside our door.
“He heard us again!” MindReader says, pulling the cover over his head. “He heard us talking!”
I laugh. “We’re prisoners in our own home.”
“Shh don’t speak,” MindReader says. “Don’t attract the beast.”
N’aww, you and mindreader make being grown-ups seem like fun!
Gah, am I a grown up?!
Ah, the terrors of the feline in his dominion!
I know. he owns us!
I call the saucer eyes “trouble eyes”. Because it’s all that comes with those. TROUUUUBLEEEEE.
Love your Benny stories. Keep them coming!
Ha. Those eyes. I love them. And the cocking the head on the side thing. TROUBLE.
Oh dear. Roger and Benny are twins.
Hide your breakables now…
Ha. Yes. And the loaves of bread (don’t ask).