To the lighthouse

We haven’t slept much this past fortnight, and it’s all Ralph’s fault.

Ever since we adopted Hunter and Ralph they’ve been surprisingly well behaved at night. They may have slept in some inappropriate and bizarre places (notably, on the hob), but they’ve always snoozed away the hours. Recently, though, Ralph has become nocturnal.

The fun usually starts at about midnight, and it goes like this:






(Pause for effect, and then..)



It’s hard to describe this last noise. It’s a new one Ralph has learnt, and it sounds like a child who, having stolen a bullhorn, cautiously winds it up before letting rip with a noise that could keep ships safely away from rocky shores. After four or five honks he will, if ignored, calm down for ten minutes, but then the whole performance is repeated.

And why does he do it? Because he wants his tummy tickled, apparently. Open the door and he’ll roll over, paws akimbo, writhing and grinning with expectation. The big, fluffy, adorable twat.

Naturally, students of history as we are, we first attempted appeasement. Then we attempted to ignore him. After that failed, we’ve attempted to chastise him by night and exhaust him by day. So far, no joy. I’m beginning to think that the only creature capable of stopping this is Hunter, who misses his beauty sleep.

All © 2022 Tom Royal