As I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now, I’m not the world’s most organised person. I tend to rarely (OK, closer to never) have things ironed ready to be worn. I’m an iron-as-I-go kind of person. And as you can imagine, with four (yeah, four, you wanna make something of it!!) cats, cat hair is a bit of an issue in my household. Well, it would be an issue if I was overly concerned about it. It was more of an issue for my allergic husband (past tense). Mind you, his allergies actually lessened when he lived with cats. It’s just when he visits that he puffs up like one of those blow fish. That’s ok. Good excuse for him not to visit ;-)

Anyway, back on track. This morning I was ironing a shirt. I turned my back to do something terribly exciting like throw on some slacks, and I heard the soft *pad* of a set of pussy cat feet jumping secretively onto something they know they shouldn’t be jumping on. I turn around and there is Ziggy on the ironing board (to which my immediate reaction is to freak out that he’ll get burnt, on the inside, while keeping my calm, there’s nothing to get worried about, animals should all stay calm so they don’t get more hurt than they already potentially will, on the outside).

So there he is, standing on my newly ironed shirt (grrrrr).

Do you guys have the sticky rollers, covered with adhesive tape, for picking up lint and, surprise, surprise, pet hair? I have one of those on the ironing board (ok, token effort to please my mother when she visits)… and there is my insane cat deciding to cut out the middle man and just rub his head all over it directly, instead!

Mmmmmm human-mum. It’s all tactile.

We’ll add to that him stealing a box of unopened dried cat food from the shopping bag this evening and chewing a neat corner off it so he could get to the contents. Must have been feeling a little peckish.

Cheeky little sod.