Nocturnal happenings for the last three nights, getting in the way of a good night's sleep and thus an excuse for fuzzy thinking which leaves me eating when I shouldn't. Excuses, excuses.
Saturday night was a scheduled 3.30am alarm call to give Tybalt his pain relief.
Sunday night/Monday morning 5am was just a general 'worrying about Tybalt' sleeplessness. So I came downstairs looking for him...
...yes, he had captured and killed a Clanger during the night and was using it as a cushion. We had also been disturbed that night by Flora jumping on and off the bed, chasing headlights around the room, scratching at the side of the bed. The cats are normally confined to the kitchen overnight but we had allowed them the run of the house so that Tybalt could go wherever he felt happiest.
We did the same thing last night, with the crucial change that we shut the bedroom door. At some point in the night Flora was doing a lot of meowing and scratching and sticking her paw under the door and then, the last straw, jumping up at the door handle and making it go 'twang!'.
So I got up and took her downstairs. As I went down Tybalt rushed by me into the kitchen. When Tybalt is well, he has always been very good at taking himself into the kitchen just before we go to bed. I took this as a sign that they would be ok in the kitchen for the rest of the night.
As I returned to the bedroom Denise's phone chirruped. I'm guessing it was Flora, texting her.
let me out the kitchen! lolcats
You may have realised that I was intending to blog daily this month. And then along came the 2nd of Doctober when the best cat in the world (obviously I think Phoebe is amazing and I love Flora Mybug) Tybalt aka Mr Tibs aka Tibtobs aka Tibtobularum aka Tyblobs became unwell and I had to do, you know, my job with him. And then along came the 3rd of Optober when I had to remove his spleen and I am still, you know, stressed and worried about him and everything. As are all the other people who love him because he is, as I said, officially the best cat in the world. And, yes, it is official, there has been a UN resolution to that effect so don't argue, okay?
So, while Tybalt is recuperating in a ginormous cage in the living room (so big that last night I was forced to watch Dr Who from around the edge of it - which was convenient because I kept an eye on Tybalt whilst cowering from the scary alien ghosts) today has become a day for making chocolate chip cookies and hang the diet for now.
The real problem with this whole 'Stoptober' thing is that it just makes me wonder why I need to stop Tober. Poor Tober, whoever he is, has probably done nothing to offend me, the poor chap.
And, as far as it goes, in my mind 'Tober' is short for one of three things...
1. The Hebridean town of Tobermory on the island of Mull which, with no actual information at all, I am going to say is the model for the town of Balamory on that there television.
2. The womble Tobermory. I have no further information on him, though he was a major part of my childhood (or at least 5 minutes of lots of weekdays when I was a child)
3. Toberman, probably least familiar to you all ('probably'????) a character from 1960s Doctor Who and a terrible racist stereotype (a mute black manservant in the employ of a couple of creepy foreign stereotypes) He is cyberconverted but at the end of the episode saves the day by closing the doors of the Tomb of the Cybermen. He also has a scene in which he grapples with the cybercontroller and then lifts him above his head with the aid of visible wires and then throws a dummy wearing the cybercontrollers outfit around a bit. It is classic television, I'm sure you can imagine.
And those three things, for me, are why we probably shouldn't stop Tober.
Still, on with the diet!
Hi, I'm Andy, serial weight gainer. My year of dieting is over! But you can still give money to Shelter or the PDSA!