![moonpigdeathdig.jpg](https://images.hive.blog/DQmYWAQho9uXAQK7PzfenfHKnqoyPQLGFa3rqRpNuyrwLc1/moonpigdeathdig.jpg)

*Daddy-Bear, have you contacted a pet sitter yet for the holiday?*

The *Good Lady* called from another room. Her voice had a petulant edge which I suspected had more to do with the rising of the new Moon than her seeming inability to pick up a device and search for cat sitters.

*As a matter of fact dearest,  I am on a site just now looking at Pet Sitters!*

I chortled merrily at my amazingness in doing something unprompted. If only the rest of the world could be as great as me.

*It's quite funny actually!*

I called out as I drifted through the profiles of the *sitters* before me. 

*What's funny about it?*

The *Good Lady* shot back darkly as if I should dare find humour on the internet and not at home. 

I laughed to myself at the prospect of the upcoming three days of moon madness that the *Were-Lady* was obviously working up to. 

The last one had been rough with loud harrumphing and much angry stamping of feet and that had just been the male horses at a local stable we had visited when they had scented her *black pudding.*

*Well, you know... I am browsing their photos and looking at their pics and in another window, I have a chat going on with one of them about the cats' dislikes and likes and what she should get up to once she arrives.*

I laughed out loud.

*It's like booking a hooker!*

My smile faded away as the *Good Lady* marched into the room with a ferociously raised eyebrow and a face that was darker than the aforementioned *black pudding.*

*It's like booking a what?*

She said, in a deceptively soft voice, like a fox inviting a chicken who has seen the sky falling down for dinner.

*A hooker, HA! This one is asking me if she should bring toys! Hahaha!*

I stopped typing and looked up in the way of animals suddenly sensing a darkening of the sky and a quickening of the wind.

*And have we booked many hookers online, Daddy-Bear?*

The *Good Lady* purred in a sinister way as if she were a 12th-century torturer asking its victim just how red hot they wanted the red hot poker to be before ramming it up their chuff.

*Of course not lass. I was just saying. You know, like, just saying?*

I found myself blushing despite being entirely innocent of the crime I was now being accused of. 

*Then why, oh why, precious darling would you equate acquiring a cat sitter with purchasing the services of a lady of the night on the interwebs?*

The *Good Lady* stood beside me and leaned in over my laptop scanning the screen for naughtiness.

*Um, I was just being a dick. For fuck sake, obviously I have never purchased a ladybob's bits online for a bit of joobster-shoobster. That would be mental!?*

I looked up, only half pleading for my life.

*And why would you __obviously__ have __never__ purchased the services of a lady online...?*

She placed a hand on my shoulder close to my carotid artery, clearly so that the wrong answer would lead to a swift, bulgy-eyed and gargling demise on my part as she delivered a *moon-pig death dig.*

Enough of this, I thought. The best form of defence has been and always will be a solid attack. 

I flipped the laptop closed. The cries of *Helen with 10 years + experience* echoed faintly from within.

I stood and pulled her close to me.

*Because, my sweet little pork pie. I already have a filthy hooker of the night right here of my very own!*

I gave her a playful smack on the flank and sauntered off to the kitchen for a snack.

*Cat sitter hunting* always gives me an appetite.