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Sometime this week, 34 assorted boxes of Stuff land from the UK. It’s the last bits of Tobermory’s personal possessions; plus an Ikea bookshelf and assorted gubbins, a Christmas present for me.

This will, of course, cause problems of the storage variety. Some of them will be solved fairly readily (via the construction of said Ikea bookshelf and it’s use in my craft room). Some of them will take longer, and require systematic reorganisation of the house.

I figure we might be done by Christmas. 2015.

Still, Operation 2012 continues as best we can. The craft room has been reorganised a couple of times (pending addition of epic bookshelf). Tobermory spontaneously suggested repainting, lying in bed a few nights ago. Partly in a “let’s make this house OURS, dammit” vein, partly in a “the wallpaper in the bedroom is horrible” vein… I don’t really care why, I’m just thrilled he’s finally decided that we need to repaint! I’ve been wanting to repaint since we moved in. Although, admittedly, I’ve only really had ideas about what to paint the place in the last year or so (and we’re on year four in the house now).

Four years. How did that happen?

I have other plans afoot. I’ve had an itch for months to recover a chair or something for said craft room. Having seen patchwork chairs on the internets, that idea took root. I finally found a chair in the style I wanted on TradeMe – and very sadly, it came with a two seater couch. All for $50! The material cost – I’m doing this properly, I’ve bought upholstery-weight fabric for parts of it, and the patchwork will be interfaced and stitched onto upholstery-weight calico for strength – is somewhat more extensive. But still, $300 for a two seater couch and armchair that I really love – at least, love in the abstract so far – is nothing to sneeze at.

The couch has the feline seal of approval. Tigra has adopted it as Hers, and is found there every night at present. Sweet little cat.

I don’t get to start on my project for a few weeks, though. I’m visiting Nay next weekend; then after that, going down to Wellington for the Salsa Congress. I am both nervous and excited by this prospect. Still, it’s all booked and paid for, I have clothes and shoes and makeup… all I have to do is get on the plane and convince myself to have fun.

Easy, right…?

NEWSFLASH – Candy and Tigra both sat on the couch with me last night. They were actually butt-to-butt, snuggling, beside me, and both purring. Astonishingly awesome.

I missed a ballroom class yesterday. I was absolutely shagged after work, and half-forgot and half-just-gave-up on it. I’m not enjoying ballroom the same way I enjoy some of my other classes; and it’s also quite hard to learn alongside zouk. Zouk is a lot more … flowing? The way you use the body is almost completely opposed to the careful way you should be moving for ballroom. And I’m not a good enough dancer to manage both. And I love zouk, so – zouk.

Also, I’ve inexplicably hurt my left foot. I was walking down the hallway on Sunday and my big toe joint just went “crack-pop” at me, which was a) quite painful b) somewhat sub-optimal for dancing c) quite painful. It’s mostly OK, but I do have to be careful not to tread too heavily on that joint.

I got the breadmaker out on Monday night. Lovely light wheatmeal bread – rose like a champ, hit the top of the breadmaker and sunk. The loaf is thus mostly square, but oh it’s delicious. Tobermory and I have eaten most of it – breakfast and lunch for two days isn’t bad going for a loaf, though.

Plus, cheap. Cheap + tasty = win. Next on my list: sweetcorn and capsicum bread, and/or “whatever looks interesting in the next Foodbox” vege loaf.

I’m out of town this week – work. As such, Murphy, who is a cruel bastard, has ensured one of my boys is sick. Not Tobermory this time, but Boomer. Poor little bugger has been in a fight, or walked on something, and has an infected, leaky, foot. And yes, he’s been to the vet. Poor wee sausage.

I’m out of town as part of the deployment of a big project at work. The project manager is a wonderful woman, I think I want to be her when I grow up. Today, after the training sessions that I’m there to run, she (out of the blue!!) said “let’s go swimming!”

What the hell, right, why not. So we went to buy her a pair of togs – I’m an over prepared freak and bought mine with me – and bought towels.

Although I haven’t swum for five years – in fact it might be closer to six – I haven’t lost it. I wasn’t breaking speed records or anything, but I did a very creditable set of laps. I lost count somewhere after 20, and as it was a 33 meter pool, I’ve swum at least 600m. I doubt I hit the full kilometer, but I am, I feel justifiably, proud of myself.

I started salsa again last night. It was SO GOOD to be back. I haven’t forgotten everything – teacher danced with me a couple of times, and I was able to follow without too many hiccups – and I was easily able to keep up with the class. Didn’t even get too exhausted, although I was sweating like a pig.

Zouk hasn’t started yet, but I’m really looking forward to it. And the dance studio is running a weekend bellydance class (a one-off), which I’m pondering. Why not, right?

AND, when I got home, I didn’t snack. Well, other than a slice of salami, but that doesn’t count. Particularly as my Tigracat nicked half.

I loved coming home this time. in 2010, we were cold-shouldered on our return home. This time, I went outside and called my girl, about half an hour after we pulled up the driveway. There was a frantic meow meow meow meow meow! from the neighbours’ section, followed by the appearance of my kitten running indoors as fast as she could. Tobes intercepted her – she’d come in the front door, couldn’t find me immediately and had a panic, while I was around the back of the house – and carried her to the living room, where I was coming in the sliding door. She flung herself out of his arms and into mine. She was so pleased to see me. Apparently she spent a lot of the time we were overseas out and about – she’s been quite a homebody since I came back. She sits in the snug with me and cuddles – usually on the back of the couch behind me. Then when she falls asleep and falls off the couch, I get the blame. Silly kitten.

Boomer rocked up from his feline adventures a few hours later. I heard crunching noises in the kitchen (of the nom nom kibble variety), stuck my head in the door, and was greeted with a very pleased chirrup. Picked him up for a cuddle, took him to the study, where he leapt out of my arms and into Tobermory’s. He was so happy to see his human.

Candy – yes, we’ve kept Candy, and thanks to a month’s worth of feline Prozac, interfeline relations are at a surprisingly reasonable level* – was pleased to see us, but she doesn’t have the same loyalty to Her Person that the other two do. She’s a sweet cat, and I love her, but… yeah, I have a favourite cat, and it’s not Little Miss Shouty. She’s got a lovely little affectionate purr, and she’s playful and cuddly, but… she’s just not My Girl.

We do still try to keep her in the bedroom at night, so that Boo and Tigra get some peace. She’s stopped picking fights the same way, but there are still some periods of friction. However, she’s learned how to open the door. Yes, we can latch it, but… well, last night went as follows:

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

LEAVE THE DOOR ALONE.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

“Shall we give up and open it for her?”

Doomph jangle kick kick thud, wiggle bang.

“Yeah.”

We’ll see how it goes…

Operation 2012 status: I cleaned out the upstairs freezer. Tobermory’s been telling me for ages that a) I’ve been blocking the air vents b) it’s not draining properly, because of the aforementioned blocked vents. Eventually, the fridge started growing snow, and I finally got sick of it Wednesday night. Emptied, wiped down, bowl of warm water to wipe the ice off with, butter knife for obstreperous chunks. Didn’t take all that long. Mystery food disposed of (trash day), freezer re stacked with due care for the vents, and it’s stopped making the “help me, I can’t freeze properly” noises.

* the other night, I found Tigra and Candy ON THE SAME COUCH. Sharing it! Both asleep!

Candy appears to have decided that the best place to sleep is on me. It makes it rather hard to turn over when you have 3.5kgs of kitty snuggled in the shoulderblades. Feline integration project, revision three, going surprisingly well. Tigra sits outside the bedroom door quite regularly – if it’s opened, she’ll leap in the door, flail at Candy’s face, then wander in and steal her biscuits. Last weekend, Candy was having a walkabout – I heard thudda thudda thudda down the hall, in a fashion that suggested two cats were involved, and investigated. Boo had decided that Candy needed to be back in her room, and upon shepherding her down the hall, discovered she had kibble! She was sat under the bed, the picture of dejection, while buggerlugs cleaned out her bowl. Tigra and Candy have progressed to nose and bottom sniffs – and they both bounced down the hallway in “play” mode Wednesday night. Tails up, bouncing along. It was lovely to see.

Tobermory has been working some ridiculous hours lately. I’m taking the opportunity to eat things that he doesn’t like.

Last night, the result was something approaching paella. Fried up capsicum seeds, capsicum, and bloomed tumeric, chilli powder, and cumin in a bit of olive oil. Added cracked pepper, basil, lemongrass, oregano, and rosemary; threw in tomato paste, about 300g of precooked/frozen shrimp, and three (chopped) cheese chorizo sausages. Dropped in a couple of helpings of rice (was just feeding myself and Thaqui), filled the bowl that I’d nuke-thawed the chorizos in with water, applied that to the pan, and let it simmer down into something saucy and delightful.

Finally, finely chopped a bunch of – I think it was silverbeet? green leafy thing in the vege drawer, anyway, probably not spinach – and stirred that through, let it simmer down for another couple of minutes until it was wilted; applied to bowls, added forks, and wandered back to the study to play videogames.

About fifteen minutes, two helpings, no leftovers, and we had a tasty dinner. It’s funny how just about every country has a variation on fried rice.

We took Candy on because her previous owner couldn’t find her a home. And we tried to integrate the cats. We tried, so hard. But Candy is a girl who wants to be Queen of All She Surveys. Boomer believes, with some reason, that as he’s 7 kilograms of muscle the position of undisputed king of the neighbourhood belongs to him. And so Candy gets grumpy/nervous/upset, and goes after my Tigra, who is a nervy scaredy skitterbutt, won’t fight back, and goes and hides and piddles in corners.

This is not a recipe for feline happiness.

We tried for four months to integrate them. Supervised visitation, supervised meetings, unsurpervised… we tried and tried and tried. Once it escalated to fur flying, and a cut on Tigra’s nose that didn’t heal for three weeks, we realised that enough was enough.

Candy lived in our bedroom for two months before I tried to introduce them again. Same dynamics resulted. However much I love Candy – and I do, she’s a delightful cat who I’d keep if I could – we had Boomer and Tigra first, and our loyalty has to be to them. So, Candy lives in our bedroom. It’s a warm sunny room, and she has plenty of affection and cuddles and games with us; but a bedroom really is not the best place to keep a cat forever. And as it creeps closer and closer to summer, it’s going to get horribly hot in there. We’ve got to find her a home.

She was an SPCA Special when her previous owner rescued her. She’d been surrendered to the SPCA by her original owners. Then S went overseas. I could, if I was desperate, surrender her to the SPCA again, but I don’t want to abandon her. She deserves better than that.

Kitty biography: Answers to Chicken as well as Candy. Knows her name, comes when called, more of an indoor cat than an explorer. She’s a bit shy, but when she gets to know you she is affectionate, playful, and loves nothing more than to be allowed to snuggle on (or in!) the bed with you. Comes with scratching post, litter box, litter, selection of foods, bowls, and an adorable selection of purrs, meows, and chirrupy noises. She’s a darling, and I’ll miss her, but she needs a home of her own.

Breakfast was about 13:30 today, and it was a ham/chicken/cheese filled roll.

I’d got up and put my plate on the coffee table, and wandered off to make a drink. When I walked back into the living room, Tigra was on the coffee table, carefully hooking the chicken out of my sandwich with an inquisitive little paw. Boomer was on the floor receiving stolen goods.

Boomer looked over at me with that expression all pet owners will know so well, the “what? me? no, I’m just sitting here!” Tigra looked up, leapt off the table (with chicken in her mouth) and hurriedly ate the evidence.

Busted!

Tobermory and I don’t really do valentines. The day was punctuated with work, the dishwasher breaking down, and me going to an (excellent) dance class. Ran into a coworker from OldJob, too, and had a catchup – he was waiting outside the studio for a friend, so I stopped and said hi.

And, in proof that romance isn’t dead and that the universe has a sense of humour? I woke up at 3am with a hand crawling over my face. Said hand patted around a bit, found my nose, then punched me square in the conk.

Me: “brzw..mrrr what the hell was that for??”

T (sleepily, mumbling, tones of great indignation): “What’s your problem? it’s not you I’m punching!”

I stared at the ceiling for a bit, while T snuggled down and went back to sleep, reflecting that it was probably only fair. After all, my sleep flailing has so far sent my poor husband to work with concussions twice that we know of, plus sundry other bruised areas where I’ve punched or kicked him*. And also giggling, because for some reason I cannot adequately explain, it was hilarious.

Tobes rolled back over after about five minutes. The hand came sneaking back out, but this time it just wanted to cuddle.

In other news, the feline integration project is going well. Both sets of cats have been allowed to sniff at each other through a cracked doorway to Candy’s room. Candy keeps trying to escape, so I thought I’d better alert all three parties to each other, in case of any successful Houdini-style maneuvers. Boo couldn’t have cared less, provided that the provision of chicken jerky treats continued; I’m not sure if it was Tigra or Candy who hissed when they eyeballed, but subsequent interactions have only involved cautious nose-sniffings. Tigra also keeps trying to play, via the fine old-fashioned art of stuffing a paw under the door and waggling it furiously.

I think this might actually work.

* This morning my nose was a bit bloody and Tobermory was both astonished and apologetic. I am still finding it immensely amusing.

I am sitting in the livingroom. Yesterday, the tail end of Cyclone Wilma blew through; today there is glorious sun. The house smells of the cleaner that I have used to mop up a puddle of cat wee, when Tigra elected not to go outdoors in yesterday’s rain, and not to use the cat box, either.

I hear “meee, meee meeee.” I call Tigra, as it’s her meow, and Tigra isn’t usually a talky cat. Usually it just means “I cannot find my human and I want her, where is my Mahal?”

“meee. Meeeee!”

“Tigra?”

“… meee. meeeeeeee mee?”

I get up, go into the courtyard. She is stranded, because she’s climbed up the trellis, gotten into the jasmine, and can’t work out how to get down. Silly pudden wants me to rescue her.

That’s the second time this week.

I had a dream last night. I’d been at the supermarket, and rescued a stray pig. One of those pot-bellied pigs that people keep as pets. It was quite a cute little pig, although it had sharp little hooves.

Whether this had more to do with Tobermory’s snoring, or the fact that Tigra was industriously attempting to treadle my foot into a different shape while purring enthusiastically at me, is anyone’s guess.