Last night I might have accidentally drank too much red wine, leaving hubs to put me and baby to bed. I think it’s easier to put a 10lb baby to bed than an 11 stone (11 stone!!) woman. Having not had alcohol for such a long time (especially not in the quantities I had last night) I had forgotten what hangovers feel like, I don’t like them. Hubs and I don’t mix drinking a parent duties so last night hubs didn’t drink (I did more than enough for both of us), so I was free to pass out and dream about living in space. (It involved hovering if you’re interested.)
Anyway, this morning I’ve woken with a sore head and breath that could be weaponised. I’ve had to dispose of a dead rat left on the carpet by one of the cats and I’ve had to lock the cat flap in order to get Marmite to the vets this morning. This has not gone down well. She likes to eat and then bugger off for hours on end. As this wasn’t possible she and Captain have been getting rid of excess energy by fighting, stopping only to see is the cat flap has magically opened. I’d had enough of the growling and hissing (all coming from Marms, I might add) so decided to remove the antagonist. It is not fun chasing a cat with a hangover. When I finally caught the little sod (Captain) he dug all his claws into the carpet so I’m lifting and he’s not shifting. Finally managed to untangle him and shut him upstairs and hear Marmite growling at the cat flap. She then scouted the living room for an alternative exit, upon not finding one, she decided to do a poo in the litter tray. One I can’t remove until she’s in her cat box or at the vets (clever Marms, very clever).
Whilst cat mayhem is ensuing I notice the collection of spiders is growing. Phil Mitchel is nowhere to be seen but whilst on the phone to my sister I noticed one on the curtain by the front door. This in itself was a sign it was a big bugger because I didn’t have my glasses on and I still saw it! I can only assume it was an extra from the film Arachnaphobia. If that’s how you spell it, I am quite frankly too hungover to care. Anyway, I don’t mind Sir Legsalot but this is an entirely different kettle of spider, latin name Fuckingus Massiveus, to catch and release I’d need to put a wheelie bin over it and slide a pool table underneath.
Hubs (my knight in shining armour) has managed to successfully wrestle Marms into her cat box and is currently sat at the vets. William has taken the opportunity to do a massive poo. The sound effects were really quite something. I now have the dilemma of how to change his nappy without chundering on him.
Wish me luck.
In other news:
I’m never drinking again.