Sunday Morning Going Down

It is well documented how I feel about my Sunday mornings. My Sundays are the antithesis to my Thursdays. They are to be enjoyed in a calm and and peaceful manner.  A leisurely day spent with coffee, newspaper and a good book. They are not to be plagued - as was today - by early morning phone calls (my father-in-law), more early morning phone calls (Grady's friend Crispy), and chasing the cats and a chipmunk.

If you now re-read the first paragraph, and insert the "F" bomb every 2 or 3 words, you will have a better understanding of how I really feel about my day so far.  

My husband - who normally fields any early morning calls from people who are brave enough to poke the bear, had taken Lindsay to Driving School (the one person in the house having a worse day than me) and then gone on for a ride. The first phone call (my father-in-law who is reading this and laughing) shortly after he left, woke me up and pissed me off. By the  fourth or fifth - all before 10:00 A.M. I was positively apoplectic.

Thoroughly disgruntled, I got up when Rob returned and stumbled downstairs for a coffee. As I sit nursing my nectar of the gods and bemoaning a pounding headache, I glance out the front window and see one of the cats with a chipmunk in his mouth.  Son of a bitch, this was probably the same stupid-arsed chipmunk Rob rescued from the other cat only yesterday. 

Coffee and headache forgotten I jump to my feet, and hobble to the front door. Rob has beaten me to it and by the time I get outside, is bellowing at me that the cat has hopped the fence into the back, and he is in hot pursuit - until he reaches the fence that is, he isn't quite as nimble as the cat. I head to the back door as Sid rushes past me and lays claim to my shoes, so I am forced to hop about in the sodden back garden in bare feet. The cat takes one look at my windmilling arms and wild eyes and does a 180 degree turn back the way he came. Rob by this time has made his way through the house only to do an about face and return to the front door. Did I mention that these antics are accompanied by much hooting and hollering and general pandemonium. Our neighbours love us. 

I have barely made it back into the house when I hear a shout from Rob, the cat is on his way back, but this time over the fence on the other side of the house. By this time I am freely cursing the cat and the stupid f**ing chipmunk that allowed himself to be caught. We finally corner the cat by the rabbit hutch, or at least Sidney and I do, Rob is still on the other side of the fence, helpfully calling out directions. I reach down to grab the chipmunk that is vainly trying to scamper up the glass walls of the rabbit hutch, only to have the dog snatch it out of my hand. This is one hell of an unlucky chipmunk. I scream at the dog and make a grab for his collar. He yelps and the chipmunk breaks free, across the path, over Sid's feet and in to the lilac bush where we lose sight of him.  

And that, was my Sunday morning going down.