Scribblings from the Mitchy Side

So there I was this morning, doing my world famous impersonation of a hibernating dormouse, when a loud noise penetrated my dreams. Gradually my conscious took over and vaguely registered that it sounded like yelling. Specifically, a young child's yelling. I growled, prepared to roll over and then realised that it wasn't a child, it was the cat, yowling fit to be tied.

My sleep-riddled thought process promptly went along the lines of "OMG HE MUST BE HURT/DYING/IN DISTRESS/THERE'S A FIRE/BURGLAR/MYSTERIOUS MONSTERS IN THE FLAT!!!" so I stumbled out of bed and flung myself into the hall. Only to see his Furriness completely unhurt, with no sign of incipient danger, and giving me his "I'm cute and HUNGRRRRY!" look.

Possibly something in the expression on my face convinced him that this wasn't his best move ever. It was 6am. He wasn't due for feeding for another two hours, just the same as any other morning. We hadn't put the clocks back or forward, so there was no excuse. He just decided he was hungry and wanted feeding nowthatveryminuteorhe'ddiehonest!

Furry bastard.

He got fed five minutes before I left the house at 8.50am. On purpose. And he kept his furry butt well out of my way for the duration, too.

The rest of the day went downhill from there, really.

The only bright spot was managing to impress BullyGirl by producing 20 letters with no mistakes. I'll gloss over how many attempts it took me to produce the flawless documents to give to her, mind.