Part of the joy of being a pet owner during the Bonfire
Night Weekend shenanigans is the fact that you have to keep your pet calm and comfortable while it sounds like a warzone outside. You have to give them somewhere they can take shelter from all the flashes as a variety of highly-priced and short-lived sky bursts shine forth, lighting up all around.
And you have to do it for bloody ages.
Because you can be dealing with a variety of different fireworks events – organised ones, back garden ones and the children trying not to blow off their own fingers/eyebrows ones from the very second it gets dark until an arbitrary time that is considered appropriate to stop with all the bangs.
It’s the same at New Year. Fireworks to celebrate the dawn of a new year is one thing, but when they’re still going on at 1am it’s taking the piss a bit.
And it’s the same with bonfire
night weekend. You reach a point when you think that must surely be it, and then all of a sudden you’re in the bathroom having a wee being lit up by burning chemicals with such ferocity you think you’re at a rave and are longing for a whistle.
I am currently in charge of the cat flap. It is my job to keep Peppa calm and content whilst we celebrate the historic act of gunpowder, treason and plot. Carole has blocked the cat flap off with a picture frame. It has, for the most part, worked.
As I typed that last bit, though, Peppa – being the clever little sod she is, has worked out how to shift it. I know that because I heard the distinctive sound of the cat flap flapping, and when I entered the kitchen to investigate there was nary a Peppa. But there was a moved picture frame, rolled out of the way – as it were – like the rock from the front of the cave they poked Jesus into.
So now I get to enjoy the cold November air as I sit here with the back door open, so that Peppa can run back in as she sees fit without having to negotiate the cat flap. That way if a loud firework gives her the willies, as several have already, she has a clear path to any of the many forts we have provided her with for her comfort.
Or, knowing my luck, this will be the hour that the fireworks knock off and Peppa will be out for ages. But I won’t dare to shut the door in case some randomly go off and she’s scared. And then I’ll fall asleep on the couch with the back door open and a fox will get in and eat me. Or something similar.
night weekend. It almost makes me miss Hallowe’en