Early Saturday morning

I was woken on Saturday morning by the crash-bang of my bedroom door against my dressing table. The Big Black Dog entered the room looking sheepish. I know this even though my back was to the door and I was happily sleeping (until the crash of door against dresser) because I have known The Big Black Dog a good, long, time. I pretended to remain sleeping. The Siamese Princess was curled behind my knees, probably dreaming of paper bags and boxes (her favourite things.) She too awoke with the crash of door against dresser.

I know this because she greeted The Big Black Dog like a long-lost friend that she hadn’t seen for years, climbing onto my legs to gain some height and meowing her greetings in her not-so-melodious-Siamese yowl. She then walked along the length of my body to my shoulder, as if I were the Great Wall of China. On my shoulder she paused to stretch, yawn loudly (this I could see because her left paw was almost on my chin, and hear because her little Siamese mouth was about 2cm from my ear.)

At this point, The Big Black Dog was pushing her snout into my back. I know what she wanted – food, love, attention – pretty everyday The Big Black Dog desires. I closed my eyes quickly, feigning sleep, even though she could only see the back of my head. The Siamese Princess hopped daintily from her perch, landing with a surprisingly loud thud for such a small cat and I heard her pitter-patter through into the kitchen where she ate some breakfast (she has surprisingly loud chewing sounds, too.)

The Big Black Dog followed her and I lay wondering whether, when nobody is looking, The Siamese Princess juggles a couple of her pellets and throws them down to The Big Black Dog. They are very good friends, considering one is a very small and old Siamese, and the other is a big-boned (ahem) black labrador of middle-age-but-puppy-temperament, so I wouldn’t be surprised.

Ah, yes, life in The House in the Middle of the Street is not half domestic, is it?