The cat box chronicle
I spoke with my mama last night (mid afternoon for her!), who is currently looking after my brother’s cat. Said cat (‘Flocon’) is a little shy and has been hiding in a cupboard most of the time.
Which brings my mother to the following problem: she has to transport Flocon by car tomorrow, and to do so needs to put her in her cat box. Keeping in mind Flocon doesn’t let my mother touch her.
My mother has thus devised (in all seriousness) a battle plan including treats left in the cat box in the morning and regular checks throughout the day to see if they have been consumed. If Flocon enters the cat box to eat the treats, the battle is almost won – her words.
She promised to let me know how it goes: personally I can’t wait to find out.
(The cat pictured isn’t Flocon, and the image is from here).
Quick lunch
A can of ‘Rediburgers’* can make for a quick and easy lunch. Except it really looks like dog food.
I said quick and easy, but I didn’t say really tasty. So at the end of the day, I don’t think I’ll be buying this again.
*It’s a vegan paste of some kind with a name that’s trying to be clever.
I really did say that!
There have been many things to adapt to for me since moving from France to Australia, and this is the beginning of an attempt to explain.
Sometimes I query Christian as to why some French words seem to throw English-speaking people into fits of laughter. Why same English-speaking people trying to speak French default to these words, almost as if they are so typically and quintessentially French, used by every French person you’ll ever meet. I asked because it seemed stereotypical.
But see, just then, I heard myself leaving a message on my mother’s answering machine, and what did I say? ‘Zut alors’. Point taken.
leave a comment