Maybe its the weather but, in my darkened mood, I parked on the lavender and couldn’t be bothered to move the car. Why so glum? I’ve trays of plants for the allotment but I can’t get them down there. It’s been raining for days.. I’m working too much. I go months with not a hint of work then everybody is on the phone at once. Then there has been the slaughter in the garden and the cat’s smirking again.
I guess it’s all part of the perils of owning a cat, but why did it have to do that to the baby great tit and I can hear the blackbird alarm calling again. Our previous cat lived in permanent comfy middle age, always asleep in the garden or on the sofa; this garden tiger is a marauder.
I’ve told sad tales of mice under the sofa and shocked magpies smashing up my daffodils in the kitchen (alas all on the other blog site that shall not be named) but this morning I was greeted by half a fancy goldfish, the tail end. Should I confess to my neighbour or keep quiet and let him think it’s the heron again. (Answers on a postcard please.)
I know it’s not only cats that do bad things. Yesterday I met Jack, a hamster eating terrier. The hamster was on holiday at a friends house. Never assume that those jolly little plastic balls, designed to exercise a hamster, are doggy proof. Any canny dog can whiz the ball along with one foot, then decant a dizzy hamster and, wham, no more hamster.
What’s the real reason for me being gloomy? Another birthday looms. Not a significant one, but aren’t they all significant once your past the first flush of middle age.