Hey diddle diddle, the cat's on the griddle!
I'm guessing
that Ozzy from next door is a bit of an optimist, but I'm afraid that isn't
going to be a nice warm place to sit for several months! Or maybe {and I haven't looked yet} he's decided
that my barbeque is his own personal toilet, so he doesn't have to get his feet
wet and dirty. More likely, I think, is that he's realized that it's just
the right height for him to make eye contact with me, as I sit at the kitchen
table. He wants to come in.... clearly, he knows nothing about the
contents of my fridge {beer and cake}
or the fact that it's warmer outdoors than it is inside my house.
I'd love to
have a cat but, given my age and gender, the risk of turning into a stereotype
is too great. I don't want to end up smelling of wee and going shopping
in my slippers. My former landlady {a most elegant lady who smelt of Chanel
perfume} had a cat - in fact, part of my tenancy agreement was to look
after it whenever she was away. No problem! It was a nice, friendly
little cat; good company too. The only real issue I had was calling it
home in evenings. My landlady was a university professor, so you'd think
she might have come up with an interesting and unusual name for her pet.
But I guess her brain must have been full with other stuff. I do not
recommend standing at your back door, in the heart of the city, shouting
"Pussy!"
