My House Was Egged – Bailey was less than amused…

My House Was Egged – Bailey was less than amused…

This afternoon some little scrotums decided to egg my house.
Well done kids, you’ve performed a great service to the community by turning my frontage into a giant, festering omelette.
Were Gordon Ramsay to feature my home on an upcoming episode of Hell’s Kitchen, he’d no doubt give you an A for effort, then kick your tiny bollocks up into your throats as punishment for your poor presentation and¬†lack of attention to detail.

While this unfortunate incident was taking place, I was happily crumpled on the sofa with my delicious, albeit poor lunch choices (irn-bru and hula hoops) and Bailey sprawled across my lap.
The initial impact of egg on window resulted in Bailey ejecting himself from my lap with the force of a rocket being launched into space, taking my hula hoops with him but mercifully leaving my irn-bru upright.
Unfortunately my legs didn’t escape unscathed as he used my flesh for grip during takeoff, ‘though by now the scar tissue from years of lap traffic has granted me some protection.

Startled, Bailey began to do that slightly awkward head bob cats do, where their whole body remains frozen in place but their head wobbles and tilts like a cheap nodding dog found at the bottom of a bargain bin.

I wasn’t initially aware of the exact cause of the intrusion but, as I opened the blind, I spotted the unmistakable thick, gooey substance sliding down the exterior of my living room window.
“What fresh hell is this?!” I howled, my eyes searching frantically for those responsible but finding nothing. The little assholes were clearly light on their feet.
Bailey joined me at the window and began batting the glass in pursuit of the fragments of eggshell now moving their way slowly downwards.
I could hardly contain my enthusiasm as I gazed out and discovered that not only was my window now baked in this repellant slime but the egg had successfully disgorged its contents across the tops of the wheelie bins and was dripping from my clematis.

Bailey began licking the glass and jumping around, bashing the window fitfully and merping. I decided he’d make a pretty shitty guard cat as, now oblivious to the cause of the intrusion, he was quite happily making a game out of pursuing the mess the perpetrators had left behind.

I can only imagine that my house was an amusing target because the local children think I’m a weird crazy cat lady; the type that kids whisper about at sleep overs and giggle about in the street.
I often open the front door, only to find all three cats spilling out onto the front steps around me as my neighbours gawp from their gardens. That they have seven dogs each seems to be perfectly acceptable but, once you acquire more than two cats, you’re assumed to be mentally ill and prone to screeching inexplicably in the street. Granted, I do that at 3am when one of the little bastards has done a runner but that’s beside the point.

Were the perpetrators to still be watching, Bailey’s current dim witted performance at the window would no doubt now be solidifying their belief that they had settled on the right choice of target and that I am indeed a crazy lady in a house filled with furry imbeciles.

Sighing with frustration and failing to muster any excitement at the thought of heading out to hose down the front of my home I decided to go with the tactic of out of sight, out of mind.
I headed out onto the deck with a fresh packet of hula hoops, my irn-bru and Bailey, to hide from the mess and hopefully ignore any further eggy incidents.
We quickly settled down and resumed our relaxing lunch experience and very soon the disturbance was forgotten.

It rains enough in Scotland that the egg will be rinsed away by the inevitable monsoon by midweek anyway and if not, it will serve as a reminder to my neighbours that not only am I a mentally unstable lady living in a home filled with felines, but I also lack basic hygiene when it comes to my home.

#FML #InsertEggJokeHere


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