Christmas conversations with my cat

A festive episode of our usual series

El Mog: Who were those people?!
Bagelmouse: They were my parents and you know very well who they are. You've met them on many previous occasions.
El Mog: Yes, but I have a very little brain.
Bagelmouse: You're not wrong…
El Mog: They were in my house! They slept in my bed –
Bagelmouse: My bed.
El Mog: – they sat on my sofa and woke me up when I wanted to sleep and tickled my belly and made noise and moved around and they were here for a million years!
Bagelmouse: Ten days. And you got it easy. They petted you and let you in and out when you wanted and you curled up next to Mum several times.
El Mog: It was change. I was not impressed.
Bagelmouse: You didn't get peppered with simultaneous questions: 'how does this work?' 'where does this go?' (Typical reponse: 'um, is it OK if I finish putting on my trousers before showing you?') You weren't dealing with a Dad with such a low boredom threshold he's constantly looking for things to do; to the extent that when the binmen came round he leapt out the door and was stood waiting for them to finish so he could bring the bins in. He looked like he was supervising.
El Mog: Why didn't you just go to Spain again? You could have left me with the nice catsitter and I'd merely have complained bitterly when you got home, instead of constantly for the last week and a half.
Bagelmouse: I didn't go to Spain because of you, dear heart. You got your diabetes diagnosis at exactly the time the winter flights got released. We didn't know if you'd be alright to be left and we didn't want to wait to book the flights because they get expensive. So they came here.
El Mog: You're blaming me for this?
Bagelmouse: Damn right. And it would have been fine, the three of us –
El Mog: Four of us.
Bagelmouse: – three and a half of us in my one bedroomed flat for ten days because we were going to do touristy things and go to the British Museum to see the mummies and the V&A to see the tearooms and Carnaby Street to see the decorations.
El Mog: Why didn't you? Why did you stay in the house and disturb me?
Bagelmouse: Because Mum ended up having another bunion operation five weeks ago and she can't bloody walk very far. We had to get a taxi to the damn pub.
El Mog: Oh, is that why she was shuffling everywhere? At least I had time to get out of her way, unlike that other clodhopper.
Bagelmouse: Stop whinging. You had three people to adore you. I had two people to entertain and a weirded out fluffball to calm down for ten days.
El Mog: *humph*
Bagelmouse: The thing is, I love my parents. We get on really well. But we never, ever, lived in such close proximity to each other. Even as a kid we had decent sized houses – hardly mansion-esque, but reasonable suburban houses. So living on top of each other has been hard, especially for me when I'm used to my peace and quiet and not being told every day how much better the kitchen will be when I get more cupboards put in. And I'll warn you about one more thing, cat.
El Mog: What? They're not coming back, are they?
Bagelmouse: They are. For longer. Several weeks. In August. They're also going to look after you while I go to Paris (if I can afford it).
El Mog: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Bagelmouse: It won't be so bad. Mum will be mobile and we'll be out a lot, even if it's just the garden.
El Mog: Are you trying to convince me or yourself?
Bagelmouse: Both, kitty; I'm trying to convince us both…


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