The fences are 5ft high with no purchase for cats' claws and the stone wall is 6ft+. He steels himself to jump almost to the top of the fence but then slides down like a cartoon cat, leaving his claw imprints on the way. Once he worked out that he was lousy at climbing fences (three legs good, four legs better) he turned his attention to the wall. I swear this cat, for all he was rescued in Spain, has some Yorkshire blood in him: he just won't give up.
Still, it's shown me once again what lovely neighbours I have. Twice today, H has looked over the fence or rang the bell to let me know The Ginger Being was going walkabout and then I met A, for the first time, who proceeded to walk with me, up and down the road, calling for the flipping cat.
I say 'flipping' because the previous time I'd brought him in, courtesy of two ladies I haven't met properly yet (I like to be formally introduced y'know - Jane Austen and her dance card has nothing on me) he spotted another cat. 'He sounds very upset, poor dear'. 'Oh he is', I said, 'I'm stopping him from eating your cat for breakfast.' Ice broken!
Being Spanish, he, Suki not A, wasn't mightily miffed in an English sort of way when I took him back into the garden, he was full-on tearing his hair out and digging holes into my arms - first time ever. He then proceeded to attack my ankles. Each of the savlon-smothered holes is 5-6mm in diameter - yes, I actually measured them, they're enormous gaping wounds - and I'm not a happy bunny. I've never heard him in such a rage before. He's now sleeping next to me, curled up as if butter wouldn't melt.
No camera but the Star Jasmine (trachelospermum) (sun, part shade) is planted around the front porch, replacing the horrid ivy, and so is the Clematis Elizabeth (anywhere). The parts of the raised beds are all laid out ready for fixing once the old fence is taken away to make room; the permeable weed membrane and newspapers are raring to go (only fit for lining cat trays and raised beds after all), and the easy-to-mix concrete (just add water) is ready to re-build the small stone retaining walls. If only I were 'raring to go' too.
More boxes have been opened and more pictures and mirrors found; the huge sideboard is finally up on the landing and super-sized Flaming June (Leighton) has taken her place at the top of the stairs; most of the curtain rails are up now and the material and cord/piping has arrived so I can re-cover the seat of the old Lloyd Loom chair for the bathroom and finally put curtains up at the windows.
So, I'm not short of things to do but, my word, it's hard work and Suki, as you'll have gathered by now, is neither use nor ornament. Well, actually, he is of some use: he curls up at night around my knees and keeps me warm so perhaps I should have second thoughts about barbecuing his remaining hind leg. His vocal chords though, they're another matter ... ...
Work begins on the kitchen next week so, all being well, it will finally be up and running and ready for cooking at last and the stuff for the kitchen that replaced the stuff for the garden will be replaced by the stuff for the dining room in the hallway. Then, to the Bank to get some cash. Wish me luck!
Royston Robertson
PS I've just thought: now that you all know my cat's name I'd better change all my security passwords.
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