sparkindarkness: (Default)
There are some things that are never good, some things that are guaranteed to cause panic.

And one of those things is a phone call at 4:00am. That nearly always means something is on fire or someone has died. Or, well, in my case, it means I'm on call and someone needs me to turf out to the police station and/or swear at them and tell them to say nothing until morning and I've had some sleep. I'm told the latter is unprofessional. I say professional and 4:00am are mutually exclusive concepts.

So when the phone rang this morning I was pertubed, even more so when I recognised the voice not of my work place, but of one of my many cousins, I was concerned and ready to give condlences (he lives in California, leaping into action is a somewhat limited option).

Cousin: Sparky! I need your help

Sparky: Don't worry, take a deep breath, I'm here (what? My family's prone to excessive panic). What do you need?

Cousin: oh... I just wanted you to help organise a few things for our trip


Sparky: Your trip?

Cousin: yeah, we're coming home in October for a few weeks, thought you'd be the best person to organise it, being all legal and all (Not that he needed legal help, but he had forgotten whether he was a British citizen or not. As may be guessed, he's not well known in the family for his intelligence)

Sparky: Is there a deadline or something?

Cousin: No... I thought this would be a good time?

Sparky:... What time do you think it is?

Cousin: 8:00 by my watch


Sparky:... I mean here.

Cousin: Lunctime?

Sparky:... We're 8 hours ahead of you. Not behind, not unless the Earth started rotating the other way.

Cousin: Oh... so what time is it?

Sparky: 4:00. In the morning.

Cousin: Ah...

Sparky: You might want to think twice about crossing the Atlantic. I can reach you on this side. *hands up*

Which is annoying.

But what is more annoying? Is Socks, the cat, noticing this.

Socks: You are awake. That means you should be stroking me *nuzzle nuzzle*

Sparky: Go away cat, I'm alseep

Socks: Such lies you tell. *nuzzle nuzzle*

Sparky: Beloved wants to play *picks up cat* *deposits on Beloved*

Beloved: *has anticipated and burrowed under the covers until only a few square inches of blond hair are visible* *produces very unrealistic snore*

Socks: *returns to me* Stroke me human *nuzzle*

Sparky: If the cat keeps me awake all night I'm going to be grumpy and make everyone around me suffer

Beloved: You're at work today, not my problem.

Sparky:A ha! You're awake *deposits cat on him again*

Beloved: Talking in my sleep *unrealistic snores start again*

What is more vexing is that insomnia has robbed me of sleep all damn week. And now, the first night with actual sleep? The universe hates me.
sparkindarkness: (Default)
When it comes to actual snail mail, I tend to leave it for a while. No-one sends me letters – that isn’t a pitiful Gabriel Garcia Marquez title (I hated that book, we had to read it in Spanish at school) , no I just do everything online. So a fair amount of my post is junk mail (or, recently, religious pamphlets) or things that aren’t urgent. So I collect them, dump them on the coffee table and have a look through them when I have the time or inclination.

This is a habit which, for some reason, vexes Beloved even more than my ruining Star Trek for him.

So, with the cat being unusually active, he decided to encourage her to play with one of the junk letters. She was very much amused for almost an hour – which amused Beloved a great deal despite the shredded paper

Of course the cat thinks this is great fun and has taken to hooking any post off the coffee table and proceed to shred them across the living room floor. And, of course, she doesn’t know what post is junk mail and what isn’t. She also has great fun scattering the itty bitty pieces of paper


He is proud of his ability to teach an old cat new tricks

I am proud of my restraint in not murdering the pair of them

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sparkindarkness

April 2015

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