You see, wherever I stepped, there would be a cat under my foot. A hungry cat.
As I performed my necessaries in the bathroom, there would be a cat winding around my legs or jumping in the sink, making absolutely sure I knew that they were good and ready for their breakfast.
Walking down the stairs was to quite literally risk life and limb as the two cats joined forces to hasten my descent.
And then, as I prepare their delicious breakfast, they would circle like vultures, making their demands known at unpleasantly high frequencies.
But, just recently they seem to have lost their enthusiasm for turning my morning ablutions and stair traversal into a death defying fight for survival.
In fact more often than not, I can wee, wash, dress, tea, breakfast and provide Dr K with her morning cuppa before the furry little bastards even stir. If I'm lucky, Rochester will yawn at me.
I should be grateful really, I suppose. But there's something about avoiding 14 murder attempts before breakfast that gets me going in the morning. I miss it!
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