Ode to a pussycat

My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk...

That's from a poem by someone called Keats and that's how I feel. I was sick this morning. I tried to tell she babe but she just laughed and said "No - it's too early!" Then he babe said "What's he doing?" - except he shouted it really because of the earplug he wears so he can't hear himself snore. "He's got my sponge out of my pottery bag and he's throwing it around the room!" Well I was, obviously! But even when I manage to get their attention they don't take any notice!

In the end I went into the back room and was sick by my catflap. It was mostly whole biscuits. I knew she babe would see it there and probably not tread it in. I'm always very thoughtful, even when I have a lot on my mind.

She got up later to feed me but I couldn't eat - and it was my favourite ocean special sachet of bits of fish and jelly stuff too.

I'm lovesick. I can't eat. She babe should know that.

I think I might write a poem... but I'm not going to show it to the babes. They'll just laugh. Sigh.