After a slow mo reunion under the bright lights of KFC, we spent 25 minutes staring blankly at the wine isle at Sainsbury's before scurrying home stopping briefly for barks of laughter after trying to deduce whether or not a peacock could ring a door bell.
(This was because when walking home the other day there was randomly a peacock mooching around)
After arriving back home we started to unload the shopping. Old Lettuce was rummaging around in the fridge and I was having very stern words with Greg (the boiler) when I heard the most grotesque noise. I turned, expecting to see Lettuce looking very ashamed with slightly bent knees, but no. It was Jason. A tiny cat I have been having to foster, squatting on the kitchen floor with a large wet, bubbly poo puddle forming around his ankles. There was about a 47 seconds where Lettuce and I stared at each other with a range of emotions on our face. All emotions were taken over by our gag reflexes so she flung open the back doors and I sacrificed a towel for a soaking up the shite, whilst dry heaving like a bastard.
After bleaching the floor and soaking up the fear and disgust with a pint of wine we continued to cook some rather cracking vegan food and watch a very poor horror film. I did start to notice that every time I turned to look at Lettuce she had another layer of clothing on. My heating is sulking at the moment, it comes and goes, but it's totally sporadic. I started to feel that I was doing rather the opposite of doing something nice for someone since I had a house guest who was not only freezing to death, but had also been subjected to some pretty horrific feline bowel issues. So my good deed for the day? I warmed her feet with my sweaty palms. What a good friend I am!
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