Love, love me do

[emsk]

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.

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