One of those phone calls, part 3.

The doodley deep of our house phone is a frightful sound at the very best of times, but when you're up to your crossed eyes in work and it breaks your concentration by going off not once but twice in quick succession is is even more annoying.
Observe, from the fat cat home this very morning. A be-dressing-gowned, fleeced up Fatcat answers the annoyance that is the house phone.
'Hello?"
'Cat?"
It is my eldest sister. She sounds bossy and cross. My hackles rise.
'Yes?'
'You have got to ring our mother and sort out whatever the hell is going on between you.'
'Oh for Jesus sake. This is going to have to wait.'
'She's driving me up the walls.'
'I'm working here.'
'She was on the phone for almost an hour last night, I couldn't get her off it. Did you really call her a vicious bitch?'
'I didn't call her a vicious bitch, I said she could be a vicious bitch when she wanted.
'Well, she says you called her a vicious bitch.'
'Well, she can be a vicious bitch.'
'She was in bloody hysterics last night.'
'She puts that shit on, you know that.'
'Up to ninety she was, going on about-'
'Lemmie guess, she was heaving heart palpitations? Her blood pressure was sky rocketing? An astroid fell on her?'
'She was very upset and angry.'
'Pity about her.'
'I mean it, sort it out. You and her can't keep crossing swords like this.'
I look to the East, where Puddy is busy sitting like and old man and making disgusting 'zizzz zizzz' sounds. I wonder why my sister does not hear me when I use the word 'working'. I wonder how much of a show my mother put on for her last night. Certainly she tried to stage one for Etheline over the weekend and that failed miserably, so it is crystal clear to me she was aiming for the another 'mammy' to play the burning and much wronged saintly Matriarch. I tell my eldest sister this, but she doesn't seem to hear that either.
'Honest to god cat, you and her, ever since you were old enough to walk you've been at each other's throats. I have to tell you I'm really really tired of it.'
'Don't blame me, I wasn't the one who called you up.'
'She says you were incredibly rude to her.'
'I may have been, she deserved it. She was rude to me too. Did she tell you that?'
(and now I can hear the childishness in my voice and as well as making me mad is it making me sick.)
'What is going on with you two? Why the hell can't you just try to get along?'
Ah the million dollar question. I ponder it. Well actually I don't ponder it at all because there is nothing going on between us, absolutely nothing. I don't like her, that's it. I have never liked her, even as a child. I don't like her. There, I've said it out loud, well I've typed it. Actually I did say it out loud, I said it to the paramour a few weeks ago after I flung our phone to the bottom of the garden.
'I just don't fucking like her!'
And exhale.
I don't like her, she is not a very nice woman.
And exhale once more.
I don't like her. I prefer it when I don't have to talk with her.
'I don't like her.' I tell my eldest sister.
'Well too bad.' My sister retorts, 'she's your mother and you're stuck with her.'

I finally get off the phone. And I seethe and I rage silently. Then I look up poisons and my day improves.