I recently went away for a well-deserved week holiday with my girlfriends. Being the new millennium I had no qualms about leaving the Other Half looking after the flat while I was gone. It saved me having to put the cat into boarding kennels for the week and they were both house trained. My holiday over, I returned home tired from a long and very delayed flight. As I turned the key in the door I was looking forward to relaxing in the comfort of my own home. I didn’t expect the assault on the senses that hit me; not in a good way, more a mugging down a dark alley kind of way. The smell of brown paper vinegary chip bags and an unfathomable mustiness wrestled for dominance. The blinds were pulled and overhead light beamed out like a lighthouse, despite the bright evening. I noticed a pile of partially opened envelopes battling for space, on top of what I guessed was the coffee table, with a bunch of newspapers, which had exploded onto the floor. Bits of food were scattered artistically near the bin. I didn’t want to look any closer. I couldn’t decide if I’d walked into a prison cell, car boot sale or an art installation.
In the middle of the alien place that used to be my living room sat the cat and the Other Half, both looking dishevelled and glazed about the eyes. “I tidied up before you came home!” announced the Other Half with pride in his voice. I looked around, squinting against the glare from the 200watt bulb overhead and I spied the tracks of the Hoover skirting by the edges of the room. Looking more closely, I could imagine that the newspapers had been stacked, although the stack had been too ambitious and succumbed to gravity. In the kitchen the avalanche of suds slowly dissolving in the sink and an empty bottle of Fairy Liquid on it’s side, indicated that, despite the odd saucepan, couple of sad looking mugs and miscellaneous cutlery items which had been overlooked, dish washing had been at least attempted. Similarly the trail of crumbs and brown teabag drips leading to the bin flagged a general tidying up spree. “Great job!” I said, gathering the pile of papers up for recycling, pausing to pull up the blind, open a window and turn the light off with one motion. As the daylight and fresh air swept through the flat and I brewed up some coffee, (quickly wiping the counter, rinsing the remains of the dishes in the reservoir of super concentrated Fairy suds in the sink and dust busting the crumbs as it percolated). “It’s great to have you home” the Other Half sighed happily, “The place just isn’t the same without you.”
It certainly wasn’t, I thought and considered which kennels would take both cat and man the next time I was away.
