Despair

I try not to.

But - sometimes - I do.

Busy

What do you mean, we're a bunch of idle slackers? We are simply too busy to write blog posts, that's all.

We have much to be getting on with.

Maybe during the winter. Don't go away. But don't hold your breaths either.

Everything comes....

to he who can wait.

One of Hamish's greatest longings is to have Queen Lottie be nice to him. And usually she ignores him.

Queen Lottie rules with an iron fist in a velvet paw, and being nice to the lowest in the pecking purring order doesn't feature strongly in her reign.

But yesterday, busy doing her nails, she mellowed, and the lowliest of her subjects was allowed to creep up to sit on her chair. And then - oh joy! - to have his face and ears washed very thoroughly, as he drooled and purred like a little motor bike, and to sleep afterwards, snuggled up and happy at last.

Not that it will last, of course. Rulers have to maintain their status, subjects have to know their place, and law enforcement round here is not always a pretty sight.

But for an hour, one little ginger cat was in heaven.

PS from Millie:

Action has been taken. Situation returned to normal. You may stand down.

Thoughtful design

A garden bench is so useful. This one is mine. I like it because it has a handy gap at the back that allows me to hang my tail down rather comfortably while I think.

I say Rachel should give me a cushion.

Rachel says I'm sufficiently well-padded.

She also says I should have moved along a bit to hide the patches of missing render on the kitchen wall.

I say she should stop fussing and leave me alone to think.

She can call me when it's supper time.

Change and no change

Catkin is getting more confident. She spends a lot of time in the utility room.

She sits there as though she owns the place.

I still hate her.

Everyone know it is I who owns the place.

Friend

I have a new human. He says we can be friends. 

So I come out from under the sofa and hang out with him. He doesn't scare me.

We play with cameras. My friend says I pay attention really well, and I am learning lots.

Lottie isn't interested in photography. It must be a boy thing.

Sulking

We are very upset.

We have been sacked.

All those hours spent frog-watching, often at night, as well as all those hours spent frogspawn-gazing, and what happens?

She decides she's not having a pond any more.

She was very dramatic about it. "Three frogs in the sitting room in one week!" So? Isn't that our job, fetching frogs to amuse her?

"What if all that frog spawn hatches? Tiny frogs would never survive being carried in like that!" Well, we could eat them, I suppose. The big ones aren't nice to eat; we have to clamp them tightly in our jaws, and drop them when they're safely indoors. That's what she seems to object to the most; frogs hiding under the bookshelves and cupboards.

Millie says it was the same in Newcastle with the field mice. No appreciation of our efforts.

It's tiresome.

Rachel writes: Three large frogs in as many days, one rather too bulky for the cartoon cat to carry without damaging it slightly. Little froglets wouldn't stand a chance, and the constant vigilance required on all sides - cats and mine - is nerve-racking. Much as I love the cats, I can't bear to see small creatures tormented by them, no matter how instinctual and natural this might be.


So the frog spawn has gone to a neighbour's pond, and the pond itself - small and ugly, and on the list for upgrading - is to be filled in instead. There will be nature-friendly plants introduced in its place. No argument.


Scooter will no doubt continue to bring live frogs indoors, but at least I'll know I didn't provide him with the source.