Plate tectonics

Last night was an early night. I was more tired than a worn-out ferret after a day of extra-busy ferreting.

I was asleep by 11 p.m. And then - very suddenly - I was awake. A crash had awoken me. Not the kind of little crash that indicates maybe a glass has been knocked over, but the sort of crash that tells you there is almost certainly death and very possibly dismemberment. I considered briefly if it was worth getting up to see the extent of the devastation, decided I needed a wee anyway, so got up.

In the kitchen sat a smug-looking Monty Cat. His smug look clearly said, "This is actually very much your fault, Laura."

On the slate floor was a plate smashed into at least twenty different bits. The remains of my evening's jacket potato sat amongst them.

Monty Cat's look couldn't have been plainer to read: "Laura, what have I told you about remembering to do the washing up? Hmm? Well, this is what happens when you don't. And from now on I shall be breaking a plate and waking you up every night at 12.30 a.m. until you learn your lesson. Now you are awake you may also stroke me and feed me as a reward for reminding you about the dishes. Thank you."

If anyone would like to adopt an overweight, ginger bastard*, please apply to the usual address.

* The cat, not TheBloke (TM) who may have ginger eyebrows but is reasonably slimline