Yes, I know the title sounds like an American cozy [sic] mystery.
The problem is that I’ve got myself into a situation where I need to clean the house before going away for the weekend. I do usually make some desultory efforts to clean things up on Sundays – it used to be Saturdays until I found I was too tired that day after the stresses and strains of a working week – but I don’t usually like to wear myself out on housework before going away. It’s only now that I’ve realised why I was being so indecisive about recruiting a cat-feeder for the weekend. On the plus side, the cats will definitely get fed at regular intervals and will not therefore have gone feral by the time I get back; on the other hand I can’t possibly let the cat-feeder experience the full horror of the uncleaned house. Also, my other cat-feeder has given up cat-feeding and gone to work at the vet school so I’ve had to find a new one who isn’t entirely aware of what she has let herself in for.
We are leaving someone in the house who should in theory be capable of feeding the cats, but previous experience has shown that he tends to panic about the responsibilities involved, and become so ill that he can’t get out of bed. [no, he isn’t a teenager]
It seems like a lot of fuss over a weekend away. I haven’t even shared the story of how we arrived at the point of deciding to go to Dunoon for the weekend in the first place: that would take much too long.
In other news, I’m now at the stage of designing a cover for my latest mystery novel ‘Frozen in Crime’, which will be revealed in due course; I paid my first dollar cheque from Amazon into the bank on Tuesday – it took so long you would think they had never heard of US dollars before, which seems odd for bank staff; I’ve collected almost enough odd socks for the pantomime; and the weather has gone from summer to autumn here almost overnight.