Now that our "little" heating problem is resolved (apart from the big hole in our kitchen wall, but I am warm again, and not minded to complain), my partner and I are growing ever-fonder of our new home. I am happy to report that I have been playing an active part in the household chores. Witness:
THIS IS ME HELPING TO
PEG OUT SOME WASHING.
THIS IS ME HELPING TO PUT
A NEW COVER ON OUR DUVET.
THIS IS ME ABOUT TO GET ANGRY BECAUSE MY PARTNER
SEEMS TO HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN TAKE
PHOTOGRAPHS WHEN THERE'S HOUSEWORK TO DO.
LAZY GIRL. LAZY.
Spring is turning rapidly to summer and I am discovering the joys of a sunny weekend in a living room with French windows. My partner and I have come to an understanding: on sunny weekend days, I am allowed to have the French windows open, as long as I do not eat her plants or shout at passers-by/Starsky/cats. The former I have grown accustomed to (her plants are yukky anyway; I'm waiting for next year's border plants), but the latter is something of a trial. NEVER have I been surrounded by so many cats. It sickens me.
The canine presence in my little cul-de-sac is limited to myself, Starsky and a Jack Russell puppy aged only 11 weeks. Almost all the other houses have at least one or two felines present. Why? WHY??
I WAS going to launch into a diatribe about the cat opposite - "Son of New Cat" as I have previously referred to him - but he was struck by a car and killed last week. I would be lying if I said that I mourned him; but I take no satisfaction from his passing. It is always unfair when a life is cut short too early.
A number of the cats (including Son of New Cat's house-mates) wear collars with a bell around their necks. The little tinkling sound drives me mad at times - it is like living in an old Leper Colony. The only redeeming feature is the constant warfare between the various cat factions. The main parties seem to be those cats with bells and their cronies against the non-belled moggies and their cronies. Their fights are spectacular and absolutely hilarious. I have no preference for either side but it's better than television, it really is. One of the best parts is that I can watch from the safety of my garden. There was a prize episode this afternoon, and I settled quietly to watch, chuckling to myself at the cats' impotent violence. The yowling, hissing, scratching and spitting provided top-quality laughs and, this time, the cats without bells came off worst. The black and white puss who seems to be the ringleader of the no-bells slunk past my gate after the victors had dispersed, nursing a rather tatty ear. He was very cross that I was laughing.
"What's so funny, eh?" he snarled at me through the fence-posts, and showed his teeth. "D'you want a piece of me, chunky? Do you? Eh?"
I growled at him with bared teeth and he spat at me and scuttled away. "Chunky", indeed. It will be more than his ear that gets tatty if I get my paws on him.
But this is quite enough cat-talk for one blog post, and the hour grows late. I will hasten to make another post soon, for I have made a BRAND NEW FRIEND! It's the eyes! And they have a face and body!! And it isn't a cat, or Starsky!!! Stay tuned...