Advice Part 83- My cat's vendetta

So, human beings are supposed to be the "smartest" animal species, are we? Certainly, we can talk, think abstractly, and have the ability to spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about non-essential activities (such as updating our blog....ahem.....).

However, my advice to young players is that human intelligence is NOTHING compared to the power of the feline brain, especially when it comes to forming and enacting devious plans.

How do I know this? Read on.....

My cat, Polly, does not appear to be a mastermind on first acquaintance. She is elderly, overweight, and spends a disproportionate amount of time eating and sleeping. But I have started to realise that the innocent exterior is simply a facade.....

EVERY evening for the past week, the following has occurred:

• It's around 10 o'clock at night. I change into my pyjamas and nightcap, brush my teeth, and then hop into my nice, warm bed to read my book for a while. At this stage, Polly is on the couch in the lounge room, apparently "fast asleep" (it is a ruse, I tell you!)

• After 30 minutes or so of reading, I switch off the light, and settle down to sleep. There is TOTAL silence from the lounge room. Polly "sleeps on."
• After 10 minutes or so, I begin to drift off to sleep. All is well.....
• The peace is suddenly shattered by a barrage of scratching, digging and burrowing. It sounds as if I've stumbled onto the set of The Great Escape, but without Steve McQueen for company.
• The burrowing continues for 5 minutes or so, until there is a LOOOOONG silence. I know EXACTLY what this silence means- my cat is leaving me what could euphemistically be described as "a gift" in the litter box.
• My room is enveloped by a fetid odour, before the scratching and burrowing starts again, as "the gift" is buried.

At this stage, I try to ignore the stench, but it's no use- I must depart from my warm bed, clean out the infamous "gift", take it to the garbage, and then try and get back to sleep.

This DOES NOT make me well pleased.

Sure, I should be glad that Polly elects to use the litter box, rather than going on the floor. And yes, I am grateful for this small mercy. But I never cease to marvel at the fact that she somehow knows PRECISELY when to time her midnight toilet run in order to cause maximum aggravation. Five minutes earlier, and I wouldn't be dozing; five minutes later, and I'd be fast asleep.

I have tried to trick her into using "the facilities" at a more reasonable time by pretending to go to bed a couple of hours earlier. I close the door, jump into bed, read, then switch out the light.

To no avail.

All I can say is, if anyone is looking for an instrument of torture, I am very glad to lend you my cat.

Advice Part 82- "So lovely to see you!"

If, like me, you are not exactly a star performer at starting or maintaining romantic relationships, then you may very well have an ex (or two) lurking in your past. And maybe it's just me, but I would like my past relationships to stay EXACTLY there.

In the past.

Not popping up for a "hello" in the present or the future.

If only things were that simple....

My advice for young players is that sooner or later, you are probably going to run into one of your exes (unless, of course, you or s/he moves to Antarctica/becomes an astronaut/or some other similarly unlikely event). And this meeting is likely to be rather uncomfortable, so you had best be prepared.

How do I know this? Read on.....

Last night, I finished work early, so I decided to relax by going to yoga at the studio I have been attending for the last four or so years.

I got changed into my "uniform" of sweaty, smelly pants, and horrible free T-shirt, removed my glasses, and headed up the back of the yoga room to collect a mat. Being semi-blind (and, I will admit, a bit self-absorbed), I didn't really notice any of the other students, until I heard someone say "Hello (insert my name here- not sure why I'm so intent on maintaining the guise of anonymity, as I think everyone who reads this blog knows who I am, but please humour me)."

I looked up to see who the speaker was. It was my ex, the famous Mr X, who I have mentioned previously here and here. Mr X looks quite different now, having grown a beard and some head hair. This only compounded my surprise.

I was absolutely mortified, and muttered a "hello." But (uncharitable though it may be) I was incensed- what the HELL was HE doing in MY yoga class?! OK, OK, it's a free country, and he's at liberty to go to whatever yoga class he wants. I accept that. But there must be at least 10 other classes within a 5 km radius of mine. Why didn't he go to one of them instead? Or even if he wants to go to my yoga school, there's classes on at other times i.e. 6am in the morning. Surely that would be an option? SURELY?

Humph.

Let's just say, having an ex that you REALLY don't like in your yoga class is not exactly conducive to relaxation.....

I spent the first half of the class studiously avoiding looking at him, and hoping that he wasn't watching me doing the downward dog pose with my backside in the air. The second half of the class was no better, as I plotted my best route for leaving the studio ASAP so as to avoid any further conversational opportunities at the communal shoe rack. Shudder.

Maybe I should be more like my mum, who loves socialising with her former fiancé and his wife. But at the moment, I'm just hoping that Mr X finds a new hobby that isn't yoga VERY, VERY soon.