Rodney the headache, Aoife’s antics, and pink pussies

Things I could have / should have posted about but haven’t in the last weeks include:

        An ongoing headache that has so far lasted five weeks and has developed in consequence pretty much it’s own personality.  It’s a mother-fucking cock-sucking sodding bastard is what it is.  I decided he needed a name and Tuxedo suggested “Rodney”.  Strangely enough – and not to Tux’s prior knowledge – Rodney was a particularly loathsome boyfriend of mine lo, many years ago so it seemed appropriate.  Rodney (the boyfriend) was A Big Mistake; I’d always sworn blind never ever to go out with someone who was (a) called Rodney; (b) Dutch; and (c) younger than 25 (I was 25 at the time).  He fulfilled all criteria and so I should not have gone there with a jousting stick attached to a barge-pole but hey, I was 25 and stupid and an emotional and physical mess so of course I needed more baggage and emotional abuse, didn’t I.  Anyways, Rodney the headache is still going strong.  And yes I have seen the doctor about, yes I have tried every medication/treatment known to mankind, no I don’t know what is causing him.  He’s just pissing me off right now and I wish I could dump him flat.

        We are planning our very first holiday away since our honeymoon 5+ years ago!   Whee!  We’re headed to Rottnest Island, a teeny island about 20 km off the coast of Fremantle/Perth, where we will bike-ride and walk and look at quokkas (small wallaby-like marsupials) and freeze to death.  Rotto is full-on in the peak season (summer) where the glorious white beaches are packed and schoolies run amok and kiddies are everywhere and it is, actually, absolutely gorgeous; I prefer it off-season when I don’t have to deal with schoolies and kiddies and we will very happily prop up the bar and go for long walks before repairing to our Deluxe Suite for quality grown-up time.

        I’ve started yoga class!  I’m enjoying it so, so much; the teacher is absolutely fantastic and I figure must have a background in rehab therapy or something, because he has an amazing understanding of my issues with wobbly joints and hypermobility, and the need to develop strength and stamina and avoid over-stretching.  I can feel it doing me good already, which is very encouraging.  I go with two girls (well, young women) who live in my apartment complex and we have a great time; so, yoga class AND I’ve made new friends!  The excitement!

. . . . . . . . . .

Aoife (our Maine Coon kitten; pronounced EE-fah) is now 8 months and she is HUGE.  She’s going to be a big, big girl;  Coonie females are usually a fair bit smaller than the boys but she’s a Big Bertha for sure.  She’s bigger than the average adult domestic cat and much, much wider, and already weighs over 5 kg and no, is not particularly plump, is just right (for her size).  Her tail is, to quote Tuxedo, fucking outrageous; enormously long and fluffy and from behind it is as wide as she is, which is saying something. 

She is a constant joy, extremely gratifying and loads of fun; one is never bored with a Coonie Cat in the home.   She is a real nosy-parker, always peering out windows and chatting up the neighbours.  When I take her outside on her harness and lead (she is very well behaved and runs alongside me and generally has a great time) she is a total people magnet.  I wish I’d known this when I was single and desperate, I’ve recently met heaps of cute straight (and gay) boys who love cats (but of course I have Tux who out-does them in every respect).  So there’s a good tip. 

She is very talkative, as are all Coonies.  She chatters all the time, cute soft trills, chitters, demands, mews, purrows, prrrrrrit noises; and she talks back to her humans so you can get a real conversation going whether you respond in Cat or Human.  She is always responsive to remarks, especially compliments but even just ‘hello kitty!’.  Whilst her voice is quiet and trilly in the main, she lets out immense death howls when ‘abandoned’ (ie, if I go out to the laundry without her oh the cruelty).  She adores physical contact, more so than any cat I’ve known.  She has a deep love of strokes, cuddles, hugs, kisses, cradling, being carried about and squeezed … and when not actually being held she hangs out beside or on top of the computer, under the desk, beside the bed, in the kitchen, the loo, the bathroom.  She’s always there, hangin’ with her people.

. . . . . . . . . .

In fact we adore her and the joy she has brought us so much, we’re getting another bub!  Bet you couldn’t see THAT one coming, now could you?  We have reserved a kitten from another litter of the same mating that produced Aoife and her show-winning champion brothers and sisters, and he is coming to us late June when he’s about four months old.  We’re so excited!  He’s a gorgeous kitty, personality-plus like Aoife, and show and breeding-quality.  He’s coming to us de-sexed of course, but we do intend to show him, so that’ll be something new!  I’d better start buying big knitted cat jumpers at this rate … crazy cat lady status awaits. 

He is pink.  Yes, pink.

A red silver tabby, to be exact, but the colouration and the effect of the silvering gives a definitely ‘pink’ tinge, not red or orange but pink.  He’s going to be big like his dad (and his sister); a big, pink pussy.  We’re calling him Ruadhàn Tighearnach (pronounced Roo-an Teer-nakh) which is Gaelic for, respectively, “red-headed one” and “lord” so, as his breeder prefix means ‘noble’ his full name will be Noble Red-Headed Lord.  What a mouthful!

One of my fave authors as you may know is Terry Pratchett, who writes fantasy, but not airy-fairy stuff; it is set on an alternate world and basically holds a mirror up to the ridiculousness and realities of our own world, I love it.  And in the big city on this world is a stripper/pole dancers club called The Pink Pussycat Club.  Anyway, the illustrator of his books and other merchandise is a guy called Paul Kidby, VERY talented.  And Paul Kidby sells Pink Pussycat Club T-shirts;

I want one so much, I love the idea given I will be the owner of a pink pussy cat; also I just like the idea of wearing a t-shirt of a (albeit fictional) stripper and pole-dancing club!

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