belgianwaffle

Hodge

Beware the Cat!


Posted in: Hodge

A guard came to visit our house the other day and said that he had tried to call over Christmas while we were away – see the kind of individual attention we get from the police in the edgy inner city?

He told us that when he called by when we were away, he peered in the window and saw the cat. Then he went to the hall door and looked through the letter box. Hodge was ready for him – she leapt up at him and, by his own admission, he jumped back in alarm. He said that she represented excellent security against burglars. Of course, she would let anyone in who offered to feed her.

Ferocious guard cat relaxes by the fire after a stressful day guarding the house:
010

Derring-do


Posted in: Hodge, Princess

We were out the other night. We left the children in the hands of our very competent middle-aged child minder. When we returned, she had a tale of adventure to relate.

The cat had brought in a small mouse between her iron jaws [an event which, alas, is only too common] and the child minder had squealed and looked away. The commotion brought the Princess downstairs. Leaving the child minder quivering in a chair, the Princess got out the dustpan and brush, reproved the [v. peeved] cat, swept up the corpse and covered it in tissues for safe disposal by the child minder. She then sailed back to bed having spread peace in her dominions.

In the morning, when complimented on her daring, she said, “It was only a small mouse; and it was dead.”

Another Year Over


Posted in: Hodge, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

The children (one of whom is checking this as I write under the new censorship system) got their school reports this week. They’re all very brilliant, as ever, though I note, thanks to my OCD filing system, slightly less brilliant than last year. Six trophies were given out in school and three of them were claimed by my children, admittedly for perfect attendance rather than genius at Irish (two trophies – these went to other families) but you can’t have everything. [Boastful Mum – signed the ever-vigilant censor WHAT? evil mum!]

The Princess’s teacher commented as follows on her report:

“She has shown great skill in her story writing throughout the year and equally in her oral accounts of these stories.”

A sample of this work is quoted below:

My Pet

My pet’s name is Hodge. She is a cat (or a pig cleverly in disguise). The longest time she was ever away from a can of cat food was ten seconds, she probably died of hunger. She is MEANT to eat dry cat food but I don’t think that the next door neighbour understands the word “cat diet”. She is MEANT to drink water out of her bowl but she prefers Dad’s bedtime glass of water. Note to self, close the toilet lid.

A picture of the subject of this story is below.

Legal fat cat:

001

[“I’ve been checking the authorities and there’s no law against being 6 kilos” says Hodge]

The schizophrenic nature of this blog under the new regime is proving trying for me. So much so that the Princess may shortly have her own blog. She is pushing for the title “Comments of an 8 year old” to redress the perceived wrongs in this blog. It’s hard to regard this development with any great enthusiasm.

In less controversial news, we are all on summer holidays now – hurrah! Tomorrow we decamp for a week in Kerry. Let us pray for fine weather. Full account to follow when we get back. There’s something to look forward to.

She’s Not Dead


Posted in: Hodge

January has not been a great month, so far. My loving husband and I have both been very busy at work. In addition we have encountered, in our extended circle, grim deaths, redundancy, unemployment, dissolution of a working partnership and the country collapsing around our ears. And I haven’t even mentioned the funerals. Irish people go to a lot of funerals and January is peak time for that.

Then, last Thursday, the wretched cat went missing – she had never been more than 4 hours away from the next meal before. We looked and we looked but, by Sunday, we knew we were doomed. The Princess was distraught. It seemed extraordinary that a small, fat, bad-tempered ball of fur could provoke so much misery. Then, on Monday, at lunch time, without the slightest attempt at explanation, the cat turned up, grubby and hungry and, apparently, glad to be back. Let us trust that this means our luck is turning.

What are we to make of this?


Posted in: Hodge, Middle Child, Princess, Twins, Youngest Child

When I came home from work, Michael looked up from what he was doing and said, “Mum, the babysitter kicked me.” He then went back about his business. I protested feebly, “Don’t call O “the babysitter” Michael, she has a name.” And then I turned to O and asked “Ahem, did you, eh, you know, eh…” to which she said, no.

Nevertheless, the children have not taken a shine to her and, certainly, she is not as good as her predecessor who was terrific. But she seems ok. And she will be finishing in the next couple of months in any event to go back to France for the ski season. So, I suppose we will tough it out.

I discovered that the children have other plans. The boys’ teacher took me aside this morning. She said that the boys had told her that they were working on a secret plan developed by their sister. At her signal they were to scream and only to stop when she picked up the cat. I see a number of difficulties here including both the objection of the cat and the Princess’s choice of co-conspirators. Still, I am experiencing definite unease. This evening the Princess asked me why I can’t sack the babysitter.

Oh dear. Do you think that the babysitter will tough it out?

Cats of the Chattering Classes


Posted in: Dublin, Hodge, Ireland

Our cat is called Hodge. She is called after the cat my family had when I was a child. That cat in turn was called after Samuel Johnson’s cat.

This afternoon, the children had some friends to visit. Over dinner, they mentioned their cat. “What’s it called?” we asked. “Bakunin” said the five year old. “My father is an anarchist,” explained the eight year old. Retired, I’d say.