The cats cried.

I'm not sleeping well these days. I've got problems with my back (long term thing), my joints ache in general and it's worse in cold weather and the perimenopause is adding in the usual sprinkling of annoyances. I wake up several times a night if I need to turn over from an awkward position, if someone gets up to go to the loo, if someone leaves a light on outside in the hall or slams a door or if I get a flush. Or if a cat comes in to sit on my head and remind me it's only two hours till breakfast and I'd better not forget, mmm? So in addition to all the above, I'm often very tired as well.

I've been working on some of the above. I don't like to have to take painkillers every night just to sleep but there are gels and exotic ungents to rub on various achey parts of oneself that do help. Bachs Rescue Remedy and the Sleep one help. Routine helps, plus going to bed a bit earlier! And I have bought some new fabric for heavyweight thermal blackout curtain linings. Intend to make that up today.

Last night though I decided to target one of the random annoyances, the cats. Da Boyz have plenty of favoured places to sleep in this house and they like to rotate round regularly, often several times a night. The tops of the two wardrobes in our bedroom are favoured spots but to get there they have to leap up on various cluttered pieces of furniture, or the telly, or climb the side of a hamper that lives on top of my wardrobe. Crash. Squeak. Thud. Clatter. And after that they like to climb over me, or under the duvet. And purr, or just generally strike up a conversation with each other or me. They are very chatty cats and like to share all the details of their doings with me.

So last night I shut the bedroom door. I can't remember when I last did this. There have always been children to listen out for or, back in the dawn of pre-history (ie before children) we lived in a flat so small that our tandem had to live half in the hall, half in our bedroom. Or to allow cats to come in and out. No longer. Consternation! They were locked out.

They cried. They howled. They pulled up half the carpet tiles in the hall in an effort to burrow under the door. They howled some more, head butted the door in an effort to force it open, scratched and cried. Then, after an hour or so, they went away. They came back at dawn when Hubby went off to work, but I surface around then anyway. However, inbetween I got more sleep than normal, so I think the closed door will be permenant.

I am a cruel cat mummy, yup. There is worst. Da Boyz are on a Cat Healthy Eating Plan at the moment too, poor wee souls. I took them both to the vet last week for their annual shots and check up and while Oliver was pronounced a perfect size, the vet thought Paws is getting a bit "roly-poly". Yes, this is the cat who arrived last year as a scraggy mass of matted dirty fur and bones. He has been making up for all these missed meals, apparently. So no treats, no extras, carefully weighed out portions and no feeding ad lib. Not entirely fair on Oliver who is a bit indifferent to food in general but even he has noticed the shorter rations and has started making sure he gets his share the minute the bowls go down, lol.

And it's cold up the attic, so it's not even worth going up there to sunbathe under the Veluxes any more, and the spiders have gone into hibernation. I tell you, it's a tough life being a cat round here at the moment!