I’ve been working threefold today, as I will be tomorrow. I’m sorting the comics whilst mumbling to myself. I’m learning lines for a meeting on Thursday and simultaneously brushing up my Shakespeare MC for the evening on the same day.
Pickle really doesn’t like the comics being sorted. I spread them all into piles of like on the living room floor. Then I add them all to the online catalogue, keeping an eye on their value as I do so. Then I put them into boxes, trying to keep them together. The main bulk of this stuff will be sold as a job lot so the easier I make it for the dealers, the better the price will be.
But Pickle doesn’t like it. All these weird things on her floor. She hates walking on the plastic covers. She scratched me properly for the first time today, completely unprovoked apart from by comics. I’m keeping an eye on her now in case it’s something deeper but I genuinely think it’s the fact I’m busy all day and am moving around too much for her to get settled. Even cats get discombobulated when people don’t behave as they “should”. I reckon if I realise any money from these comics I’ll put some of it into a scratching post to thank her for her forbearance. After all, this is her flat. She’ll likely ignore a scratching post though. Like me she chooses hard. She’s not swayed by “cats love this.”
Anyway this evening I’m hitting my blog later than usual. I have a friend staying. I walked into my bedroom at midnight to start writing and immediately knew there was a special poo present. But where? Thank God not on the bed. She’d just protested in the corner. Steve spotted it as I was looking in all the most horrible possible places. It was just in the corner. She was merciful. Retrospectively I wish I’d taken a photo. But the SMELL.
Steve is on the sofa tonight. I wanted to hang out with him because he’s a brilliant actor who is mostly writing these days. Even though I’m always going to be an actor who writes, I am starting to think about how to make a bit of money from the writing side of the seesaw. I figured his face would eject useful bits. It did.
Now I’m on my bed writing into my phone. Pickle is at my feet as if she hasn’t been carving me to pieces and shitting in my bedroom. All is right with the world. Although Steve is allergic to cats.
Thankfully she’s currently behaving as if it’s just another ordinary day. She’s chilling at my feet. Hopefully the comic protest is short lived. I really don’t want midnight poo in my bedroom every night. It’s not fun.
Still, I’ve taken myself off fun until after Thursday. Thursday is a double whammy of learning. That’s my focus. So anyone that expects to see me socially between now and then, you won’t. You’ll barely raise me. Too much to learn and process. And that involves going to bed now, angry cat or no. Goodnight. Meow.