On Friday I looked after my four year old niece for my sister. Now I love her dearly (and she is my goddaughter as well as my niece) but she is hard work. Things were going very well until she started to get a bit tired and whiny. Then we had a slight disagreement about the ice blocks in the freezer. Ok, by a slight disagreement, I probably need to clarify that I mean that I said no, and she sooked and whined about it. For fecks sake, I'm not just being mean, it was 9:30 in the morning folks.
Anyway, her other grandmother lives in Sydney and doesn't see her that often but had sent up some stuff for her. Amongst this pile of loot was a toy cat in a cardboard cat carrier. Not just a stuffed toy cat, but a life like cat that wakes up when you pat it. It blinks it's eyes, it meows and purrs at random. In other words, my niece is now in possession of a cat that looks like it escaped from the pages of an old Stephen King novel. This was compounded when she talk the demon-spawn fake cat to day care and it got all dirty. Honestly, this damn thing like it clawed its way right out of the fecking grave after resurrection.
I kept waiting for it to look right at me, blink slowy and suggest, in a gravelly voice, that perhaps if I skinned a goat and ate a frogs heart while chanting in a graveyard after midnight on a moonless night, that my life would be soooo much more interesting.