Washing Out

Today is the Spring, or Vernal Equinox, so we will have twelve hours of daytime and twelve hours of night and places in the North will start having longer days than those in the South.

This house is South facing. The washing line is in the back garden, which is on the North side so much of it is in shade between the Autumn and Spring equinoxes.    

But there comes a day when the lawn is dry enough to walk on and the sun high and North enough for me to put the washing out on the line.  This year that day was Thursday just gone.

I hadn’t actually intended doing a wash on Thursday, having done both the 60⁰ knicker and white stuff wash and the 40⁰ socks and coloureds wash on Tuesday.

However, during tea on Wednesday I asked Fester 

“What’s that brown stuff on your trousers?”

He, unwisely in my opinion, rubbed it with a finger, stuck in his mouth and pronounced “Marmite!”

I later found the trousers flung in the general direction of the laundry basket.

About seven on Thursday morning I woke to that gulping, choking, sound which indicates a cat is about to throw up.

“I wonder where Felix is being sick” I muttered before drifting back to sleep for half an hour until the calm dulcet tones of Radio 3 told me it was time to get up.

I rose, showered, got Fetterfingers up and at about 8.30 there was a tremendous bout of swearing from the front bedroom.

“Trust that fur kin cat to firkin spew on my clean trousers.  Right in the fear kin crotch too.  Far king animal!”

Fester had arisen, retrieved and donned his underpants, reached across to the bedroom chair for the clean trousers, blearily put them on and wondered why his nether regions felt damp and uncomfortable.  This woke him up considerably.

I later found those trousers also flung in the general direction of the laundry basket.

I took the opportunity to empty the laundry basket and do some towels while I was at it.

Regular readers may remember January 1^st’s blog The Omen, where something similar happened on New Year’s Day 2012.  If a Matilda pissing in his underpants was a portent of that AnnusHorribilis, what does a Felix puking in his trousers portend?