My evil plan was to convince my husband that it was time for another cat.
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I came up with 'the name', before we started thinking of a new cat.
A 'new' cat. Not an old cat. A kitten.
We lost Magnificent Marvin: International Man of Mystery earlier this year.
I made sly comments, like two's company, three's a party; as we observed sleeping, fatty Lulu and Stella the poodle, whose good looks disguise her Goldie Hawn dopiness.
But I believe it was the proposed name of proposed new kitty that won him over...
"And, we shall call the kitten Kramer," I said.
Who doesn't love Kramer? The gawky, loopy character with style and a permanently suspicious nature from TV comedy, Seinfeld?
A famous episode of the "show about nothing" was the disclosure of Kramer's first name ... Cosmo.
Minor problem.
Our proposed new kitten, a tabby British shorthair (like the late Marvin), is a girl.
Well, our Kramer will be desexed.
Gender schmender ... our Kramer will be a Jewish lesbian.
She's coming from Marvin's breeder and it's awesome for us to be able to visit Sally, check out her kittens and 19 years on, choose another beautiful addition to our family.
Sally's kittens are something special.
Here's the thing, I can't say exactly why they're special.
They just are.
When we visited Kramer last week, she was in exactly the same maternity wing of Sally's cattery at Evandale.
Because I'm a bit of a dreamer/wanker, I like that sense of longevity, family; rather than production line breeding, which has become a thing.
Each of the kittens in Kramer's litter is a different colour; that's clever genetics.
We haven't exactly told Lulu and Stella that they're getting a kitten for Christmas, but there's a real sense of new life coming to our ageing household that is just that little bit exciting.
On another matter ...
I've been on holiday this past fortnight.
I took myself on a little island holiday to Cyprus.
Long days in bed and endless, sleepless nights.
It was fragrant, drug-laden and flew by in a bit of a blur.
Perhaps it was the drugs.
Or, the jasmine?
Lemon trees, fig trees .. my two favourite cultures Turkish and Greek ...
Once my COVID test showed negative I relaxed into a coma; I had the passport of imagination and medication as my fellow journeymen.
Okay. There was no holiday.
Just was a 10-day chest infection that saw me confined to bed with a couple of old friends ... Lawrence Durrell and Arthur Miller.
Miller's Colossus of Maroussi, Durrell's Bitter Lemons of Cyprus and Elif Shafak's the Island of Missing Trees worked their magic, with antibiotics and a puffer.
By the 14-day mark, I woke with no more than an empty Panadol box as a souvenir.
Meanwhile ...
My husband is a style king!
Born with rugged good looks and blue eyes, he is akin to the late great, comedian Robin Williams, but with the addition of a sexy, deep voice.
Early in our relationship he was hosting a community radio program, "Good Morning Vietnam''.
He looked and sounded every bit the Sade smooth, (radio) operator.
He had me at "I live just around the corner from you''.
Those days he favoured a white look - white canvas pants and a Greek, white (with red embroidery) hippy shirt.
Dear reader, he was tanned, he loved radio and my giddy aunty he looked hot in white.
At 5pm, last Sunday, a long way from 1988, he walked across the Christmas Hills car park, carrying two sorbets ... wearing jeans and a Paul Kelly t-shirt.
We'd worked a long day in Devonport for St.Giles and those sorbets were dinner.
Then, his pants fell down.
Ain't love grand?
