As I write this Hektor and Achilles are alseep at the top of the cat tree, looking all fluffy and cute and all the rest of it. It's all lies, peeps. They're really small fat furry fiends and I live in a constant state of oh-my-god-what-have-they-done-now. It's like raising identical twins on speed. Their crowning achievement to date was last Thursday's epic toilet-diving extravaganza, resulting in two soggy blue rinsed moggies sitting atop the cat tree trying to look like nothing special was goin on. Cue the Scooby-Doo style chase music, throw in twelve wet towels and you're pretty much living the Planet Hartwell Experience.
Not to be confused with Adventures In Kitten Walking, now showing daily at a park at the bottom of my street. The mother of all mothers refuses to acknowledge me as I truck the boys down the street in the lime green cat pram, fondly christened the Toxic Waster by my sons. Thanks, guys.
When we reach the park, she walks the dogs away from me as fast as she can so that no one realises she's related to the lunatic woman trying to leash walk two kittens full of redbull and no-doz down the path. I've actually gathered a small but dedicated audience of superior dog walkers, who feel it's their job to stand on the far side of the road and point and laugh. Just in case my mother wasn't doing it loudly enough. Here, kitty kitty kitty......
No comments:
Post a Comment