Last night I heard the usual sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth from the Boy's room. Followed by what sounded like two energetic rats dashing about. Ah. The kittens were having their 10pm punch up. Only tonight it was in his room. It happens every night. They suddenly decide to start jumping on and biting each other in a way that Husband describes as 'Kitten 69'. Only they usually start downstairs.
I sauntered upstairs to help. When I say 'help' I mean stand at the door sniggering. The Boy was kneeling down looking under the bed and talking to the kittens. "Come on Charlie, I'm tired. I want to go to bed. Oh Lola please . . "
These are kittens remember. And do they give a shit? No they do not. And bless him, the Boy was trying to reason with them. Oh sweet revenge. I just shook the cat crunchies box and when they stuck their noses out, whisked the kittens up and swept off downstairs with a small smile at Boy. He had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
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