Good Morning All
There is a new kid on the block! And this new kid is going to get a swift tickle behind the ears!
Those of you who have been following this blog for some time (thank you most kindly) will know all about sweet little Rory, the neighbours cat. Rory isn’t his real name because I don’t want to be sued by irate owners for insinuating their pussy did this, that or the other.
Rory is a sweet little soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. His attacks on birds are laughable. As soon as he goes into predator mode, lowering his body and preparing to stalk, his legs don’t appear to work very well. By the time he has launched an attack, the bird is flapping over the distant horizon, chirping insults.
Chea has met Rory now, nose to nose. Rory was hiding under the rhododendron and Chea bustled in, trilling away ( you would need to know cats to understand ‘trilling’) and Rory shot out and ran for home. He is actually frightened of Chea. All this demonstrates that he is a nice boy and gentle to boot.
I was sitting at the laptop, yesterday afternoon, when all hell broke loose. Looking up I saw Rory, flat on his back in subservient mode, screaming his little head off and some huge tabby and white horror plastered across him beating him up. Even Chea heard the attack and ran for cover.
I sprang up (yes sprang) and hurtled outside yelling, ‘Oi you little b*****d leave him alone.’ The tabby from hell ran off, racing by the chucks, who almost fell off their perch and went berserk clucking and screeching. Meanwhile poor Rory was staggering to his feet with torn-out hair still snowing down around him. He hobbled off and just made it over the fence and home. I trounced up the garden ready to …well …I don’t know what! But I wasn’t pleased. Why do the strong have to continually pick on the weak? If the tabby tool tries it on with Chea it will certainly wish it hadn’t.
Chea was massively upset – apparently. I say apparently because she didn’t actually cross my mind until an hour later when I went into the lounge and calmly enquired of Richard, who was roasting in front of the fire, casually flicking through his Land Rover magazine. ‘Where’s Chea?’
‘Under the chair,’ came his reply. Frankly I was lucky to get that much of a response. Land Rover info is so absorbing!
‘What do you mean under the chair?’
‘Under the chair. She’s been there since all that shouting.’
Now he looked up, saw my face and mumbled, ‘Er.’
How dare he insinuate I was shouting? I only raised my voice a bit. Well, I guess it was quite loud for a peaceful Sunday afternoon.
‘Well she isn’t frightened of me, is she?’ I said. ‘I shout all the time. It’s not like she isn’t used to it, is it?’
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Useless! Anyway, I encouraged Chea to come out from the under the chair and made it right with her. I mean, couldn’t Richard have done that an hour ago? Once he gets his daft head in one of those magazines he’s dead to humanity.
I have been quite concerned about Rory BUT whilst I’ve been typing this he has appeared and I’ve been out and given him some chicken, bless him. I shall be on tabby tool duty from now on. No one beats up my little friends and gets away with it. Not on my watch sunshine!
I know I don’t very often bore you with writing related crap – but today I AM going to SLIGHTLY bore you with writing related crap. I’m quite excited actually – and that doesn’t happen too often – so let me have my moment. I have decided to put my eBook, Mulligan’s Reach, into paperback form and it should be available shortly.
That’s it! That’s as near to writing orientated stuff that I need to go.
Obviously I will be over the moon, around the stars, and falling back to earth with a stupid grin on my face, if any of you choose to support me and buy a copy. Goes without saying, hey?
I hung out some washing first thing because it is a bright, windy day here and I thought that I’d get Richard back for not taking notice of Chea’s distress, by hanging out his LARGE underpants for the neighbours to goggle. I can see that they are still billowing away like sails on a pirate ship – like sails on Johnny Depp’s Black Pearl… Yes… Johnny Depp!… Jack Sparrow. If only. However, I digress – the underpants remain, probably due to the weight, but my delicate leggings have escaped one of the pegs and are trailing on the ground, so I’m off to re-peg the leggings and to stand, for a moment, beneath those billowing sails of Jack’s Black Pearl and dream …
Take care my lovelies x