The morning starts well. By now (after 5 weeks of smart-working from my parents' place and 3 weeks of total lockdown) Husband and I have completely corrupted my mother's black cat.
The Panther (aka Mom) has two cats: Tigros - a smart huntress, intelligent, reactive and a bit of a tedious whore if you want my point of view - and Negus (which means black prince in Ethiopia).
Negus is the dumb brother, he's a black cat who only has (had?) one goal in his life: being petted by my parents. He's super-loyal and affectionate, but the Panther always had a thing for intelligent ones (see Bro and I, where I was treated like the accident daughter until my late twenties).
After these weeks, where we have been spending only on treats for Negus, he's finally moved downstairs with us (insert evil laugh here).
So in the morning he steps in from our bedroom window and plops down on our bed, right in the middle. Goodbye morning sex by the way - clearly gaining the cat's affection has become more vital.
Despite everything, two clients managed to close their transactions this week - I usually don't develop much on my job, but basically they have acquired other companies. Given the lockdown (and the recession), it's almost a miracle.
Fast forward through a morning of conference calls, lunch with the family and quickly preparing some bread (currently baking in the wood stove upstairs).
At 2.45PM I was preparing for a long videoconference when a girl rings our bell and frantically warns that, in the filed close to our home where we keep the hens, she spotted a dog chasing Mom's hens.
Now, the Panther is a bit peculiar - we are virtually vegetarian and she takes very good care of her hens that are more like pets then anything else.
Husband reached that part of the yard first - blame it on my knee surgery, but I still cannot run (not even a few steps) at the risk of stumbling down. By the time I got there, it was a mix between a will coyote cartoon and a zombie apocalypse movie. The hens are 14 and live a very large yard, with their coop (the fox comes every night so they must be locked sunset to sunrise) lots of grass, bushes and trees.
There were feathers everywhere, bloodied pieces of hens spread around, dead hens, hens running like crazy and in the middle, my beautiful, brave, big husband with a pitchfork, chasing a pitbull that was chasing hens.
Surreal.
He managed to scare away the dog while my parents reached the owner, and then we proceeded for the next hour in counting the fallen, the injured and grouping the scared healthy survivors.
All while trying to soothe the poor Panther, who was very grateful towards us, until I suddenly realized I was 30 minutes late for a conference call, and absentmindedly dropped an F bomb right in the face of my Mom. Aw, well, fuck it.
Fast forward through a boring call, more cat therapy, realizing that I screamed into the dog owner's face that he is a fucking moron who likes to butt-fuck his sister (and most important, realizing I dropped all this in front of the Panther but she was probably in shock or something because she did not flinch nor mention this), I finally remember to bake bread for dinner.
While the bread was baking in the wooden stove I was strolling through pant-suits on IG and started wondering if we'll really ever go back to the pant-suit and heels life (well if my knee does not heal I can probably forget the heels). Back to the city, professional version of ourselves?
I honestly don't know any longer, but meanwhile I took a mental note that I need to fetch more wood for the chimney tomorrow morning.
The Panther (aka Mom) has two cats: Tigros - a smart huntress, intelligent, reactive and a bit of a tedious whore if you want my point of view - and Negus (which means black prince in Ethiopia).
Negus is the dumb brother, he's a black cat who only has (had?) one goal in his life: being petted by my parents. He's super-loyal and affectionate, but the Panther always had a thing for intelligent ones (see Bro and I, where I was treated like the accident daughter until my late twenties).
After these weeks, where we have been spending only on treats for Negus, he's finally moved downstairs with us (insert evil laugh here).
So in the morning he steps in from our bedroom window and plops down on our bed, right in the middle. Goodbye morning sex by the way - clearly gaining the cat's affection has become more vital.
Despite everything, two clients managed to close their transactions this week - I usually don't develop much on my job, but basically they have acquired other companies. Given the lockdown (and the recession), it's almost a miracle.
Fast forward through a morning of conference calls, lunch with the family and quickly preparing some bread (currently baking in the wood stove upstairs).
At 2.45PM I was preparing for a long videoconference when a girl rings our bell and frantically warns that, in the filed close to our home where we keep the hens, she spotted a dog chasing Mom's hens.
Now, the Panther is a bit peculiar - we are virtually vegetarian and she takes very good care of her hens that are more like pets then anything else.
Husband reached that part of the yard first - blame it on my knee surgery, but I still cannot run (not even a few steps) at the risk of stumbling down. By the time I got there, it was a mix between a will coyote cartoon and a zombie apocalypse movie. The hens are 14 and live a very large yard, with their coop (the fox comes every night so they must be locked sunset to sunrise) lots of grass, bushes and trees.
There were feathers everywhere, bloodied pieces of hens spread around, dead hens, hens running like crazy and in the middle, my beautiful, brave, big husband with a pitchfork, chasing a pitbull that was chasing hens.
Surreal.
He managed to scare away the dog while my parents reached the owner, and then we proceeded for the next hour in counting the fallen, the injured and grouping the scared healthy survivors.
All while trying to soothe the poor Panther, who was very grateful towards us, until I suddenly realized I was 30 minutes late for a conference call, and absentmindedly dropped an F bomb right in the face of my Mom. Aw, well, fuck it.
Fast forward through a boring call, more cat therapy, realizing that I screamed into the dog owner's face that he is a fucking moron who likes to butt-fuck his sister (and most important, realizing I dropped all this in front of the Panther but she was probably in shock or something because she did not flinch nor mention this), I finally remember to bake bread for dinner.
While the bread was baking in the wooden stove I was strolling through pant-suits on IG and started wondering if we'll really ever go back to the pant-suit and heels life (well if my knee does not heal I can probably forget the heels). Back to the city, professional version of ourselves?
I honestly don't know any longer, but meanwhile I took a mental note that I need to fetch more wood for the chimney tomorrow morning.
3 comments:
My cat would not interfere with a chance at morning sex. Sadly that is not happening right now. I put on a pair of jeans for the first time in weeks. It will be hard to dress up for work again. Sorry for the loss of your chickens. Fresh bread sounds really good right now.
Lol don't let the cat stop the morning action!! Although my fave is at night, after a spa and exactly two glasses of wine. Haha.
Agree, are we ever going to get back to our office wear life? I just bought a dress with sort of military buttons and I had exactly the same thought...am I buying this for nothing?
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