The phantom crapper strikes again

Oh the joys of kittens. I wouldn't actually mind quite so much if they'd actually come up and say hello occasionally. At any time other than 4AM I mean. But although Gotcha's getting pretty bold, Grolly just sticks her head around the door and meeps until I empty the litter tray. They've both found new hiding places; people got too interested in their bolthole behind the freezer so have found somehere a little quieter. I have no idea where.

Further joys; two freerange kittens means no catflap for Goway until further notice, so there are three possible contenders for post of phantom carpet-crapper. Carpet-crapper. With lino all over the house, why do they choose the only decent sheepskin rug as a nice alternative to the litter tray? Readers of a timid persuasion will not want to know what I found in the hood of my raincoat when I came to put it on before racing Little Fish to school on Thursday either.

I have resorted to bribery in my attempt to entice the little beasties out from wherever they are hiding. This is working quite well with Gotcha; he even rubbed himself up against me earlier today as well as indulging the girls in a prolonged round of fishing for kitties. Turning his nose up at the turkey slice, he did consent to eat a morsel of salmon from my knee, although only if I didn't look at him or move my hands in any way. But total silence from Grolly. Gotcha has started picking out his own armchair and informing the rest of us it's his. He's taken to rolling about in the sunlight, chasing his tail, and generally indulging in being an entertaining kitten, as long as none of us move in his direction. But Grolly has clearly found a hideyhole even more effective than the back of the freezer, and only comes out in the wee small hours.

They've been here a week now; and Little Fish has finished her first week of school (nice segue? A little laboured perhaps). She's made a friend; his name is Archie and she's been telling me all week how he shares the name of our friend's dog. Archie the boy seems to be more of a hit than Archie the dog; not only does she tell me how much she likes him, she actually tells him too andlets him hold her hand. There were tears on Friday when they both realised they wouldn't meet again until Monday. Sweet or worryingly fast; I'm not sure which!

And now one of he advantages of school; it's five o'clock and a small person beside me is saying "I really tired, Mummy, I go to bed now and have a big cuddle in the morning. Is that a good idea? Or not?" Sounds just fine to me, Little Fish.