One evening, Coupland was asked by Beckett and Bonnie Blue if he’d house sit while they and Sancho Diablo travelled to a far off land to make friends with fishes. Coupland agreed. This is five days in the diary of a housesitter.
As Coupland prepares to slide back into his normal life, Pepe has a fond farewell gift.
Friday 10 September 2004
Day five: Vom-wars vol. 2: The return of the barf-ening
The cat and I had another vomit-based tet-a-tet last night.
I was awoken by an odd sound. In my sleep deranged demeanor, I initially thought it sounded like a big splash. Confused, I sat up in bed and panicked. What could this be?
Being no stranger to the world of flooded kitchens (an event that dated eight or so years back at the parental home – my fault) I initially thought it might be just that: Perhaps I had left the taps running. No, that wasn’t really like me: I had been fastidious in my checking of the house every night before I went to bed. But still, it was a worry. So, I got up and prowled around the house to see what was amiss; to assess what had happened that’d created such a distinctive, worrying sound.
It was on the returning lap that I noticed there were three piles of brown matter sprayed across the carpet in the hallway. ‘Not again’, I murmured to myself. And once again, I was faced by the mystery of what had led to this. I was worried for old Pepe; was he alright? But immediately, he sidled up to me with a look of remorse across his peppered features. He seemed alright, and that was a relief. I do not want to be the man who oversaw the illness of Beckett and Bonnie’s beloved. I do not want to oversee the physical arrears of any cat. But as he stands here now; on top of the desk in the conservatory, he seems alright with me and himself, and that’s okay. Still, disconcerting.
So anyway, I checked the clock – it was 4.00am exactly, and I decided that these things should be attended to straight away. So, it was with heavy eye lids that I grabbed my recently purchased dirtf*cker 1001 bottle, some hot water and a knife to scrape away the excess, and got down to some rigorous splurge removal. To be fair, I was done and back in bed by half four, so not everything was lost. Maybe it’s feline-based initiation. I hope I’m looking after the dude well…
Anyhow, it’s Friday night, and I have just completed a two-day week at work, and I feel more exhausted than at the end of any five-dayer in recent memory. I have forsworn myself off of any nocturnal activities until next week; or at least I had until I was offered some sort of Djing slot at FROG this Saturday night. Oh well, I will simply have to behave; not drink and not do anything ‘recreational’. The main lure was that those dark lords of nocturnal NYC Indie, Interpol, are tipped to play. Which is pretty darn exciting. And I want to be there.
So tomorrow, I am going to go pick up my Spurs season ticket, clean the house in preparation of B&B’s return from Egypt and peruse the Saturday papers at leisure.
And then I will go out and rock the world gently.