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Cape Town continues hot.
The resultant heat-stress and headache have been rendered extra hideous by the magnitude of the guilt-trip campaign currently being conducted by my cats. They don't like having the anti-flea stuff applied to them. Golux, in particular, has become so alert to the possible presence of such, that she knows when I simply take the little capsules out of my handbag, even if they're hidden in my hand, and promptly runs away to hide under a convenient bit of furniture. Honestly, if I could market that cat's body-language reading capabilities, I'd be a millionaire. *plots campaign for the Feline Lie Detector*. Anyway, not only has she spent the last three days running away when I walk into the room, but she has infected Toad, who also cowers when I approach. I don't like having cats cowering away from me. It makes me feel as though I've spent the last five years systematically brutalising them, when in fact I've pandered to their every whim. (Other than Neil's whim to feed Toad cream, which I have sternly suppressed, but that should be traumatising Neil, not Toad). And I don't like feeling guilty; in fact, guilt trips are probably the second most hated thing anyone can do to me, and are dead counterproductive; I get so angry, I immediately want to do something deliberately nasty to the guilt-tripper. So. I have been wandering through the house with cats fleeing in all directions, causing me to swing wildly between feeling suicidal and feeling homicidal. Not pretty. The Evil Landlord has been making himself scarce. Hopefully today will be better, since (a) it's cooler, and (b) I've had a twelve-hour sleep catch-up.
The resultant heat-stress and headache have been rendered extra hideous by the magnitude of the guilt-trip campaign currently being conducted by my cats. They don't like having the anti-flea stuff applied to them. Golux, in particular, has become so alert to the possible presence of such, that she knows when I simply take the little capsules out of my handbag, even if they're hidden in my hand, and promptly runs away to hide under a convenient bit of furniture. Honestly, if I could market that cat's body-language reading capabilities, I'd be a millionaire. *plots campaign for the Feline Lie Detector*. Anyway, not only has she spent the last three days running away when I walk into the room, but she has infected Toad, who also cowers when I approach. I don't like having cats cowering away from me. It makes me feel as though I've spent the last five years systematically brutalising them, when in fact I've pandered to their every whim. (Other than Neil's whim to feed Toad cream, which I have sternly suppressed, but that should be traumatising Neil, not Toad). And I don't like feeling guilty; in fact, guilt trips are probably the second most hated thing anyone can do to me, and are dead counterproductive; I get so angry, I immediately want to do something deliberately nasty to the guilt-tripper. So. I have been wandering through the house with cats fleeing in all directions, causing me to swing wildly between feeling suicidal and feeling homicidal. Not pretty. The Evil Landlord has been making himself scarce. Hopefully today will be better, since (a) it's cooler, and (b) I've had a twelve-hour sleep catch-up.
