Ah, another Monday, another day spent swimming in the stinking, toothless yaw of paid employment .....
But really I shouldn't complain. (And yet I do - I do!!) I'm just glad to be home now, surrounded by the furry babies and my sewing projects.
It's very cold this evening, and the babies were all inside when I got home. Fathead greeted me like a shark, eddying around my ankles and looking up at me with giant saucer eyes, desperate to be fed as soon as possible. He just about tripped me up as I came in the front door and stuck close to my legs as I went into the bedroom.
Diet chompies dispensed (he ate a couple and miaowed in dissatisfaction), I changed out of my work outfit and headed down to the kitchen - Fatpuss hot on my heels - to feed Podae and Grimth, who are both still allowed to eat their normal food.
I doled out two big globs of kangaroo mince and they tucked in. Poor old Fatpuss sat there woefully, looking terribly sad and bewildered. Why me? he seemed to ask. What did I do wrong? How come they get the nice food and I get cardboard pellets? Don't you love me any more?
I swear, if that cat could talk I couldn't possibly demonstrate the resolve I do. I stayed strong, made sure the other two ate their dinner, fended off the Fathead when he tried to ram his head in and get some .... it was exhausting. Check out the expression on his face in the photo.
When they finished I collapsed in a crumpled heap and ate six chocolate chip cookies out of sheer stress and guilt. The diet might be working for Fatpuss but it's certainly not working for me - who is the *true* Fathead in this situation?!