We do not condone the mistreatment of cats. But we do think it's funny

Last week was mostly spent fighting a losing battle against self-inflicted narcolepsy.

Stupid drinking-on-a-school-night.

This has previously only been a feature of my Mondays at grown-up work, a result of misguided attempts to increase brain power through the consumption of alcohol so that we can destroy Bolshivism/win the IotG pub quiz every Sunday night.. It hasn't worked so far, but I'm going to keep trying anyway. The combination of Late Night + Early Morning + Long Boring Drive To Work means that I spend most of the day Monday staring at AutoCAD, trying to remember how to draw lines whilst I slowly drift out of consciousness. I wake up with a start when I realise that I've been clicking the mouse button randomly, and a bazillion windows have opened on my screen; I hurriedly close them all down, remember that I was trying to draw a line, and try to remember how to draw lines whilst I slowly drift out of consciousness...

And thus the cycle of incompetence is complete.

Usually this is only a problem on Mondays; but last week Ruth and I bimbled into the city centre in search of cocktails. We had a jolly nice time drinking in The Old Firehouse, marvelling at the stuffed crows perched atop the beams on the very very top floor. We got back home quite late, and then stayed up even later drinking tea and chatting about the search for God, what it's like to be an empty shell of a person, and the idea of starting a concept band called Hairy Entrails.

It all made some sort of sense at the time; less so when we each woke up for work the next day after only three hours sleep.

And it wasn't like I could get away with finding some secluded part of the plant to have a little nap in either; because grown-up work just got busy. More bosses from America are due to visit very soon, and various departments are jumping up and down about getting projects finished early. Most recent conversations have gone along these sorts of lines:

ME: We can get this done by the 3rd of February.

THEM: We need it done sooner than that.

ME: We can get this done by the 3rd of February.

THEM: Can we get it done by the end of January?

ME: We can get this done by the 3rd of February.

THEM: What can we do to get it done by the end of January?

ME: Start a breeding program for electricians. If we pump them full of accelerated growth hormones, stop the sun from setting, and adopt the use of a different kind of calender that puts an extra three or four days in January, it might just be possible.

THEM: ...just see what you can do.

Meanwhile, at my Bristol residence, we have a new toy; a Cat-in-the-boxTM.

She loves her box. Presently, the most fun thing to do with the Cat-in-the-boxTM is to close the lid and poke things through gaps between the lid and the box, resulting in frenzied thrashing and mad flailing of cat limbs from within.

Simple things, simple minds etc.

I am thinking that we should change the name of the cat from Rasputin to Captain Chesley B Sullenberger III; partly to honour the man who so bravely crashed an expensive plane belonging to someone else into a river without killing anyone, but mainly because I think it's the coolest name I've ever heard; and I like the idea of giving the cat a title.

If she's a captain, we can demand that people salute her.