British Standard

Our house is 100 years old this year. Much like a person of that age, it has some beautiful original features and amazing stories to tell (I met one of my mum’s friends who remembers visiting her great-aunt in this house over 60 years ago), but it has suffered from too much partying (particularly since it was rented to uni students for many years) and has damp problems.

So, rather than throw a big birthday party, we’re spending all our savings on sorting out the damp. Two weeks ago a man (Mike) came in, ripped out our kitchen and hacked off all the plaster from the back wall. Our dining room is doubling up as a kitchen. The microwave and toaster are our only means of cooking, and we’re washing up in the bath. The cats have gone down the garden to eat worms (literally).

Within 2 days Mike had determined the main sources of damp, and I had determined that we needed works to our upstairs bathroom as well as the garden boundary wall if the damp was to be properly fixed. Mike agreed to add the wall work to his schedule. I debated adding the bathroom to mine but then thought better of it. We can borrow money. Time is a little harder to create. I called on another trusted builder, Mal. He came, quoted, and said he could start immediately. Husband didn’t like the idea of total chaos of 2 builders in house at same time. I didn’t like the idea of prolonged chaos. So we consulted our lodgers.

Long-term lodger likened the situation to the when the Israelites disobeyed God and he gave them the choice of punishment or 7 more years wandering in the desert (not sure of exact reference). He voted not to keep wandering. We’re certainly enduring punishment now.

Last Monday Mal arrived and started sorting out the pumbing. In doing so he allowed a water leak to wash off some of the render Mike’s guys had just applied to the wall below. Tuesday Mal dropped ‘a tile’ through the bathroom floor/ newly plastered kitchen ceiling. By Wednesday it wasn’t just the cats that were hiding down the garden. Oh, and Thursday I got home from work to find that the new stud wall they’d put up wasn’t vertical. So friday Mal spent the day swearing at his carpenter and straightening the wall.

But I remain positive. The building work will all be over by middle of this week and we’ll have 2 lovely new rooms. Maybe we will think about throwing a party to celebrate after all.

Despite the fact that Daughter and I were already rather outnumbered by presence of my Husband, 2 sons and 2 male lodgers, I’ve now added a further 2 males to the household. But at least James and Henry are both rather cute pale ginger cats.

Long ago made promises of “when the baby is almost one, we’ll get another cat” have now been kept. Younger Son was a year old yesterday. James and Henry have been with us almost a month. Elder Son was quite happy to tell the RSPCA lady and anyone else that would listen that “we’re getting a new kitten ‘cos Mitsy died”. Mummy put her foot down with respect to the kitten-ness of the cats. Despite small boy tears, cute 12 week old things were not going to come home with us. And the elderly deaf cat he took pity on wasn’t for re-homing. In addition there were a good number of lovely animals that were “not suitable for homes with children”. But the pair of 6 month old DSHs were too perfect to ignore. And Husband came around to the idea that “cat” could be “cats”.

They play very nicely together, and with the kids. Husband and I have a fair number of playful nips and the kitchen notice board has been adopted as a scatching post. But Younger Son can pull tails and not complaints at all. James and Henry seem to know that small humans don’t understand the word “gentle” and aren’t holding it against him. Daughter has taken to demanding that the cats sit on her lap and half carrying, half dragging them across the room to comply with her demands. They stay for about 3 seconds and then escape.

Tops of kitchen wall cupboards appear to be a safe haven. In fact, climbing is as high as possible is a favourite pastime. But the competition between the new boys has recently taken a new turn. It now involves food. James in getting fatter. Henry is getting more adventurous.

I returned from work yesterday to be greeted by an unusually attention-seeking fat cat. There was no sign of Henry. And I had things to do so I ignored the cat under my feet. Half an hour later I found Henry. He was crouched on the back door mat motionless with his head stuck in an empty cat food tin. His entire head. The tips of ears were just visible. It looked like someone had removed his head and stuck can on his neck instead. If I wasn’t so worried I would have laughed. I tried to remove the can. Plaintive mewing. I picked up crazy cat and called Husband for assistance. Together the crazy cat was released without injury. Hope he won’t try licking the bottom of the cat food tin again. But you never know. Cats have 9 lives… but their memories aren’t a patch on an elephants.

If you enter our house you may be baffled by the baby gates. There’s one at the top of the stairs – to stop the kids coming out of their room and falling down the stairs. There’s one at the bottom of the stairs – to stop them climbing up unsupervised and falling. There’s one across the kitchen doorway – to stop them attacking lodgers while they cook (or picking up sharp knives lodgers have left lying around after cooking). And there’s one across the ‘office’ doorway – to stop them messing up Mr Standard’s work papers (he works from home) or other precious ’stuff’.

Of course when they were first installed almost 3 years ago we didn’t want to bar the cat’s route to her litter tray (in the kitchen) or hiding-from-Elder Son spot (in the office). So we raised those gates about 5 inches off the floor so Mitsy could squeeze under them. And she did. And was happy.

Yesterday morning I was in the office and Daughter suddenly appeared beside me. I looked and discovered the gate was closed. Confused, I asked, ‘How did you get in?’ So she showed me. She laid on the front and wriggled backwards, feet first, under the gate. I am not happy. I will be spending this week lowering baby gates!

Elder Son has been in the ‘why?’ phase of his life for well over six months now. I could cope with the constant ‘why this…?’ and ‘why that…?’ when it was about trivial stuff. Like rain. And dog poo on pavements. But recently the questions have got harder.

Visiting a new church this morning while staying at my sister’s, Elder Son noticed the cross on the wall. He’s never asked about the one in our church. But this morning, just as the pastor was opening in prayer, he became obsessed. And I found myself trying to explain, in hushed whispers, Christ’s death and resurrection to a three-year-old. The problem with the ‘why?’ phase is that one ‘why?’ is never enough.

But then explaining the cross is hardly going to be a one sentance answer. Even if you aren’t three.

‘After why did Jesus die?’ and ‘Why did he come alive again’, the inevitable ‘Why didn’t Mitsy come alive?’ followed. Mitsy was our cat (featured in long ago posts). She was elderly (about 16) and had health problems. Christmas Day she sprained her leg and couldn’t walk (we thought it was broken, but a very expensive emergency trip to the vet that afternoon proved otherwise). She was in pain (despite prescribed painkillers) and never really recovered. Last Tuesday Elder Son and I took her vet again, and in the end had to say goodbye. We are all very sad. Elder son is grieving in his own way and any topic of conversation vaguely relating to death tends to end with ‘why… Mitsy?’.

This morning I did pretty well. Something along the lines of: ‘Jesus is God, Mitsy was our cat, and cat’s don’t come alive again’. And he was satisfied with that answer.

And I guess I’m becoming better equipped to deal with the difficult questions. At least a little more equipped than when Elder Son asked ‘What happens when people get old, do we kill them too?’ the day after I’d signed the form to allow the vet to put the poor cat down.

What I want to know is WHY I get the extra hard questions while my dear husband has to answer only slightly hard ones? (questions I’ll tell you about later!)