...that sort of day

We had plans today - involving, unsurprisingly, the BMX track - which were rained out. The entire day was pretty much rained out to be honest. I woke up with Charlie's feet in my back and as I shifted out of his way I woke the cat.

Waking the cat means instant access to cat-paw hell. First he sits beside our heads and swats us in the face. This escalates rapidly into a quick-march across our heads, back and forth and back and forth. He then goes for the soft parts - eyeballs mainly but he's recently started stomping across my nipples every morning and occasionally the frog's balls. He's also worked out that waking Charlie is the best way to get us up and so if Charlie is in bed, Charlie becomes the main target.

This morning however he interrupted himself halfway through the process in order to be sick on the floor. Shortly after I cleaned it all up I realised that he'd also taken a poo on the bed; a much better way to get me up as it turns out, particularly as he'd been pawing me in the mouth and I had a sudden, over-powering urge to scrub my face with bleach.

So that was us up and looking glumly out the window at the bucketing rain. Not getting to the BMX track was OK as it turns out, which was a surprise as Charlie has been wearing his new full-face helmet everywhere this week in anticipation of his next go around the circuit. He's worn it to bed, to nursery, and, hilariously, in the playground like some sort of mini-Stig going down the slide. He's still quite wobbly on the bike but really gaining in confidence; I was actually quite looking forward to watching him go.

Anyway, so my little spudlet voted with his tum and instead of lurching out into the cold, we washed the sheets and had a rainy-day sort of day which, it turns out, involves a lot of cake; a pleasant diversion from the cat's insides.