The Riot Diaries, hillarious anecdotes from my daily life

It’s the New Year.

I asked the cats what their resolutions would be.

Zeuss said he intended to become more ‘Corporate’ he added that this would “enable him to facilitate sexy supply chains”.

Grommart and Sticky looked at him blankly.

Flossy relaxes Flossom, who was lounging in a rather obscene manner, flat on her back in a spot of sun, yawned, “This year, will be The Year Of Flossom MacFearsome”, she said and stretched, then continued, “and as the House Deity, all offerings will be accepted, and digested in an appropriate manner”.

Zeuss looked at her, his big blue eyes wide with concentration, “So I take it,” he said, “that this would enable you to cultivate innovative partnerships amongst the feline community, leading to an eventual high-end Fat Cat syndrome”.

Flossom glared at him, “what the?” she started, “I’m sorry”, Zeuss interrupted, “perhaps you meant you would be the House Diety, in which case, I think we could work out a user centric model which would enable a gross weight loss from your large end..”

I felt it time to interrupt, “Zeuss”, I said, “perhaps you could make your New Year resolution, something we can all understand, like, being NICE to Flossom for example”.

He squinted up at me, “I hear what you are saying...” he said.

JAN 2nd
Me sick with the flu Brent, my husband, has recently returned from a business trip to the UK.
He brought back a Man-Cold and a very nice book. He sat on the couch looking miserable, “probably Bird Flu”, he said mournfully.

Then he kindly passed his Man-Cold on to me. It wiped me out for Christmas and My Mother’s 80th Birthday. I lay weakly on the couch, accepting medicinal brandy and preparing to die. “Probably Bird Flu”, said Brent cheerfully.

Now, it seems, it is going round like Pass the Parcel, My Mother, who disappeared with her sister (The Aunt Jen) for a rollicking adventure down South for a few days, sent me a text – “STEEL YOURSELVES”, she texted, “I HAVE A STINKER OF A COLD”.
(There’s no such thing as abbreviated text for My Mother)
“Probably…” began Brent, to be promptly silenced by a steely glare from me.

JAN 3rd
My Mother arrived back. She didn’t look too bad and she looked even better after a stiff Brandy.
“Ahh” she said, looking around for something to organise. Brent ducked.
She cast her beady eye on the cat bowls, neatly lined up on the kitchen floor. Open for business.
“I see you’ve got those Death Traps out again”, she said perkily assessing their organisational potential. Last time she was here, she managed to reorganise the kitchen cupboard, the laundry and her bedroom wardrobe.
I’m worried because there isn’t a lot left to organise, I’d thought she was going to actually be sick with this flu. “You can’t keep me down with something as trifling as that” she said happily waving her empty Brandy glass at me.
She needs to be kept occupied, the equilibrium of the planet may well depend on it.

Panache JAN4th
Brent, My Mother and I went for a Tiki Tour around Rangiora. We looked at all the posh new houses. I drove.
My Mother said I drove with Style and Panache. “Did you hear that Brent?” I said, “My Mother says I drive with Style and Panache”.
“Really?” said Brent, “and here was I thinking you were driving with Brent and Dorothy”.

JAN 5th
D.I.Zeuss D.I. Zeuss is back. He came in early this morning, fresh as a daisy and full of importance. There was a suspicious bulge in his stomach and blood on his fur. He sat on the arm of the chair next to my Mother and preened himself.
“Apprehended an overweight Hare”, he blared, when he had finished his ablutions.
“You can’t apprehend a Hare for being overweight,” I said.
“All right then,” said D.I. Zeuss, “the, said HARE, was creating a disturbance and there was an altercation in which I may, or may not, have been involved, leading to the subsequent murder and indeed, eventual disappearance of the, er, Hare”.
He glared at me, daring me to challenge his version of the events, and then belched obscenely.
There wasn’t a lot I could say so he nestled into my Mother’s arms and promptly fell asleep. Case closed.

DUH! JAN 6th
We all went for a drive into the countryside.
“They must get a lot of hurricanes here”, said My Mother, knowledgeably.
“What?” I said.
“Hurricanes,” said My Mother , “there’s signs up everywhere warning about them”.
Brent and I looked at each other and then the penny dropped.
Hurricane is a brand of fencing wire used all over the place round here.

JAN 7th
We took My Mother to the Airport.
It was full of migrating herds of Boy Scouts heading home from a massive Jamboree.
My Mother ploughed into the thick of them, there was no holding her back; she had that plane within her sights and she was off to make sure the pilot knew where he was going. Thousands of small boys hold no fear for her; she brought up 3 of them.
The Scouts, swarmed around her. In their uniforms of yellow and black, I was afraid she’d get stung. She emerged happily, unharmed and chomping at the bit to get on the plane. Fortunately the pilot was already locked in his cabin, or she’d have been in there, organising his flight schedule and making sure he slowed down to make the turns.
Brent and I drove home via a friend’s place.
It is quiet without My Mother rattling around in the cupboards.

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