Death in the Garden
The pussies have been spending most nights out recently1 - can’t say I blame them, I am thinking of taking a sleeping bag out there myself.
This morning, I went down to let them in and feed them, and they both came running. I could see there was something on the grass, but not having my contact lenses in, I couldn’t see clearly what it was, and assumed it was possibly (a) a leaf (b) a fur ball (c) a pile of cat sick (d) something else I couldn’t think of.
Once dressed, and eyes in shape, I went back downstairs. I sorted out my lunch, put some bread in the toaster, and only then thought, “Ooh, I wonder what that is.”
It was a mouse.
Dead.
Looked peaceful as anything, not a mark on it.
I went and got the dustpan and brush (add another one to the ‘Why I Need A Man’ list) and scooped the poor thing up. It turned over as I did this. And exposed a big gaping hole in it’s side. A big gaping, squirming hole, with lots of little black flies inside it.
I didn’t eat my toast.
1 one exception the other night, when Madam decided she wanted to stay in. She spent most of the night with her head hanging outside the window, and obviously decided at 5.30 in the morning she had cooled off enough, and now wanted a cuddle. Being the polite cat she is, she decided to lay next to me - at full stretch, pressed as close to me as she possibly could. And I wondered why I woke up hot…..