What tranquilliser dart?

What you looking at me like that for? I’ve done nothing.

But Mrs Danvers keeps looking at me. She has a strange expression on her face.

She sighs, and shakes her head.

“How on earth am I going to get Hamish moved?” she sometimes says, and she sighs again.

No problem, I say; just walk into the room – I move then, all right. Out of your reach, Mrs Danvers!

She’s hard to understand sometimes.

Parcel post

Look what we got today! Not for Rachel – for us!

She helped us to open it.

There were knots.

All sorts of things were inside, but they weren’t important. They just gave our parcel its shape.

She took the shape-padding things out, and gave us our parcel.

I got it first. I could detect other cats had been here….. who? Could it have been Oliver?

Anyway….. string!

The boys came to have a look.

And we played with the string for a while.

Then Rachel gave me some of the padding stuff inside the parcel. It smelled of other cats too!

I had to roll in it, and bite it a little.

Scooter wondered what I was doing under there. Just hiding, smelling Nova Scotian cats!

Get off! it’s mine…..

Hamish looked too, but he wanted to tear the parcel and make confetti. Such a baby…..

He didn’t want to play with the padding stuff that smelled so interestingly of faraway places and handsome beaux.

But Rachel said that actually, it was hers, and that she had needed a jolly new tea towel. She took it away. She said there was also a book about gardens and that she would read it to us. We thought she should find the bits where it tells us about garden birds and mice. Rachel made a tutting sound.

But she left our parcel for us to play with. Then she said we must say Thank You properly, so……….

Thank you very, very much, Susan, from all of us. We love our parcel, and Rachel loves the things you padded it with. She says we are Transatlantic Cats now.

Parole not granted

The baby blackbirds have left home. I heard Rachel tell someone.

So am I allowed out again?

No. And why not, I hear you ask?

Because of these: baby thrushes.

Those idiotic birds are still in the nest, being fed by their idiotic parents till they get to be so big that a self-respecting cat might think twice about socialising with them. I am not allowed out until they have left home.

And when I do get out, I might leave home too. I might go and live amongst the trees and the wilderness, with free-range food little birds and mice for friends. Then Rachel will be sorry.

Scared? Moi?

Not at all. As soon as the noisy monster went away, I reclaimed the front room. It’s a bit topsy-turvy and it smells of wet dog, but it’s just fine for a bit of summer evening lolling.

Hamish prefers to stay upstairs, behind the television, amongst all the cables. He says better safe than sorry.

He plans to come out next Wednesday.