… for charmingly puking on my feet last night at 4am.
A veritable gift of love that was heralded with that special 'urf-urf-urf' noise that cats make as they start to heave, and finished with a perfectly formed pile of semi-digested nuggies on my side of the bed.
All of which was ignored by Mr H, pretending to miraculously sleep through me leaping up, hunting for a wipeable magaize to catch the vom on, not finding one, considering using my ipad but deciding that it might stain the cover, not being awake enough to think of the bin, being too kind to grab Mojo and fling her 4 yards onto the tiled bathroom floor -and therefore receiving said bodily substrate all of 5 seconds later onto my duvet/feet.
Cue being wide flipping awake and going downstairs to watch something abotu Jewish people on the telly, Which was interesting (did you know the very orthodox ones sellotape down the light in the fridge on a Thursday, so it doesn't switch on automatically when they open it on the Sabbath?), but not as good as a full night's kip.
Love her still though – and H owes me one - Ah x