Wumples

This is Gibbering's second cat Wumples. When she was a kitten she was an indeterminate grey colour with a big orange patch on her head, and we thought she was a boy, so Gibbering called her Jack the Pumpkin King after the character from the Nightmare Before Christmas. When it became obvious that she was a tortoiseshell and therefore a girl, she became Pumpkin. Which (obviously) became Pumples, Dumples and Wumples. Occasionally Wumplestiltskin. But let's not go there. Wumples has the sweetest, roundest little face, and watching her try and stuff herself into a shoebox half her size just never gets old. Interesting fact: Wumples is Dorian's sister - Gibbering took me with her to look at a litter of kittens a friend's cat had just given birth to, and she picked out a kitten (Dackles, another sibling and a story for another day). Then she spotted a second one which she also fell in love with, and told me that if I took a kitten she'd take two. Like I needed much persuasion. So we got Dorian. And I almost got divorced for coming home and telling Dave that I'd agreed to take a kitten without discussing it with him. Of course, when the time came, Dave fell in love with Dorian in under three seconds, which was so obviously going to happen I wondered why he bothered with the getting cranky part in the first place.

But I digress.

The shawl continues apace, although I am beginning to get more than a little stressed about finishing it in time. I should have most of this weekend cleared for knitting, though.....what I need is a CSI marathon or something. I knit better with stuff on the tv in the background, and I love watching whole seasons of tv shows at a time. I think it must be the control freak in me - if I have a box set of a show I like, I know where the next hit (oops, episode) is coming from.

I am heading out to brunch this morning with Emily (Hi, Emily!) so that we can catch up, tell obscene jokes, eat too much and talk about how adorable her almost-four-months-old baby boy is. I'm an auntie, and the kid has already correctly labelled me as a sucker who is wrapped comfortably around his pudgy little fist. Boy will I have some stories to tell at his 21st birthday party!

And I may even get the opportunity today to go and buy my Mum a present. She hates it when I buy her presents cause she thinks I should spend the money on myself. But I think this blog is sufficient photographic evidence that I do indeed spend money on myself. Quite a lot of money, really! Mum has recently rediscovered her lifelong love of knitting, and was absolutely gobsmacked when I took her to Marta's in Caulfield to look around. She wants to knit a couple of shawls from a book I have, so as she lives up in the country, I thought I'd buy her some hand dyed Marta's yarn and an Addi Turbo or two and send them up to her. The best thing about this? I know she reads this blog (Hi Mum!) and she has already expressly forbidden me to do any such thing. Interesting tactic, considering I take being forbidden by Mum as a powerful motive to go and do whatever it is anyway. So, I'm betting I'll be out the door with Emily before Mum reads this and phones me, and Mum will be sitting in front of her computer (she's an internet junkie) saying "Wicked Child!" which is what she says when I've been cheeky. To which I always reply "Well, you brought me up!"

To be on the safe side, perhaps I ought to take the phone off the hook.....

Good thing for the day: Brunch with Emily
Bad thing for the day: Having to repress the urge to yell "Oh for FUCK'S sake!" whenever I hear about our glorious nation's persistent political cowardice.