Caterpillar

So, we now have an eight foot caterpillar.

That’s happened.

Unfortunately, the complete lack of snow and only a small delay on the M1 this morning, meant that Carole was more than able to drive to Nottingham and collect a large, multi-coloured soft toy for the bargain price of £5. As opposed to the £50 that ToysRUs wanted, even when they were closing down.

Although once you take into account the amount of petrol it’s taken to get the bloomin’ thing, coupled with the fact that she was supposed to be getting it last week – in conjunction with meeting up with her friend – and ended up only going halfway then we’ve probably contributed most of that £50 anyway.

But still.

Now we have a large caterpillar.

It’s currently on the couch, running all the way along the back of it. If you weren’t expecting it and just walked into the room, you’d probably spend a little while wondering if you were the only one that could see it and then wondering if you should even mention it. Because seeing eight-foot long multi-coloured things is probably a sign of some kind of mental fracture. If it isn’t, it really ought to be. Then you’d find an excuse to sidle over and try and touch it – casually, just in case it still wasn’t real – before finally being able to ask what the heck it was.

I don’t think it’s staying on the couch.

At least, I hope it isn’t.

But I suspect it might be because Carole has discovered that stroking it is very therapeutic. And that touching its face feels really lovely. So that’s just going to be a thing from now on. Snuggle down to watch TV together, just the three of us. Four if Peppa gets involved. Carole has her caterpillar and I have a cat who, this morning, jumped onto me and, to save herself from falling, anchored her front claws firmly into what I like to call my neck.

I mean…

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