Wardrobes and sprouts

My cat hid in the wardrobe this morning.  “I don’t blame you,” I told her.  “I often feel like that.” 

Actually, she’s been stalking me constantly since we picked her up from the cattery last week.  She makes me feel like a marked woman.  I never quite know when she’s going to accost me and continue her running commentary about how heartless we are, leaving her behind while we went up north to see relations.  Or maybe she’s griping about the fact that wet food is only the menu once a day – it’s dried kibbles the rest of the time.  (They’re good for you, Milly. Honestly!)  I suppose it’s like being serves sprouts at every meal…  But let’s not go there.

Meanwhile spring creeps on apace here – NOT.  I had some bulbs that started to come out in the mistaken belief that the seasons were on the change.  I don’t know where they got that silly idea from.  It’s b*&$%”* corpsing here, as my husband would say.  Still, hope springs eternal.  And it’s only 19 days till the next bank holiday…

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