Cats and Lawns

Next doors cat creeps through the long grass of our back garden and makes its way to one of the large bushes. There it settles down to stare at me. I stare back it. Its a strange cat, a throw back to the days when wildcats roamed freely through the ancient woodland that used to cover the hillsides. It has the markings of a wildcat and the facial features to go with them. Not ugly, but not very cuddly either. So it sits beneath our foliage, a sleek muscular moggy, menacing the innocent. The innocent being of course being JC our one remaining cat and Lilly the Collie. Since next doors sabre tooth tiger has taken to coming in to occupy part of our garden JC remains house bound, unwilling to defend her territory. Lilly doesn't like cats and avoids them where ever possible. So its left to Mrs BW or I to shoo them away.

This cat seems to like our garden. So much so that now it has taken to inviting its friends round. Now next doors garden is no good for cats. The grass is too short and the bushes are too neat and tidy and offer little in the way of foliage to lie up in and ambush unsuspecting pets. In fact their lawn resembles a bowling green. To keep it so it requires three cuts a week, regardless of the weather and whether it needs it or not.

So our garden is more attractive to cats. Both Mrs BW and I are firmly in the “Gardens should look natural” school, though I lean more to the wild and unkempt look than she does. Of course as she does most of the gardening she gets to make the structural decisions and I am left to agree with her. The neighbours may not be happy, but at least their cats are. Perhaps they won't shit on our lawn! I mean the cats of course.

Cats and Lawns and Things

Next doors cat creeps through the long grass of our back garden and makes its way to one of the large bushes. There it settles down to stare at me. I stare back it. Its a strange cat, a throw back to the days when wildcats roamed freely through the ancient woodland that used to cover the hillsides. It has the markings of a wildcat and the facial features to go with them. Not ugly, but not very cuddly either. So it sits beneath our foliage, a sleek muscular moggy, menacing the innocent. The innocent being of course our two cats. Since next doors sabre tooth tiger has taken to coming in to occupy part of our garden our two have taken to spending more time in doors. It doesn't attack them, it doesn't have to, its mere presence is enough.
It seems to like our garden. Now next doors garden is no good for cats. The grass is too short and the bushes are too neat and tidy and offer little in the way of foliage to lie up in and ambush unsuspecting pets. In fact their lawn resembles a bowling green. To keep it so it requires three cuts a week, regardless of the weather and whether it needs it or not.
So our garden is more attractive to cats. Both Mrs BW and I are firmly in the “Gardens should look natural” school, though I lean more to the wild and unkempt look than she does. Of course as she does most of the gardening she gets to make the structural decisions and I am left to agree with her. The neighbours may not be happy, but at least their cats are. Perhaps they won't shit on our lawn! I mean the cats of course.

Its a hard life.........

Let me introduce to you to Yoyo and JC. Yoyo is the white one with brown bits. Yoyo was named after Adebayo Adedayo one of Bath Rugbys' legendary wingers and JC after the genius and puller off of miracle kicks Jonathan Callard. Its rare to see them like this, asleep. Normally their out and about (not). If its sunny and warm, a rare and infrequent combination up here in Buxton, despite global warming, they like to lie under the bushes by the bird feeders. Perhaps they like looking at birds, who knows. They haven't met Moonshine yet. Probably not a great idea to introduce them, after all they are sensitive and easily scared and he has got massive testicles. They are a much loved part of the BW household, even if they serve no useful purpose, other than to keep me company when Mrs BW and the fledglings go off on their adventures.

Its a Cats Life

I heard the thwack of the cat flap, followed soon after by that spine tingling feline howl. Tearing myself away from Stephen Fry's new column in the Guardian I looked out of the window. Yo Yo (named after one of Bath Rugby's' greatest wingers Adebayo Adedayo) was standing triumphantly over the cowering and contrite form of a small tabby cat. She was clearly not happy at this trespass into her territory. She must have meant it as normally it takes something serious, like the arrival of a large dog or my singing to get her to move as quickly. The cat flap twacked again and JC (named after Jon Callard ex Bath Rugby full back hero of the 1998 European cup victory over Brive) strolled out to see what all the fuss was about. JC is a coward as well as being lazy. She stopped well short of the tabby which was still on its back. I knocked on the window. This distracted Yo Yo sufficiently to enable the Tabby to make its escape. JC bravely leaped back ten feet to allow it plently of room. Honour had been satisfied and the garden was now tabbyless. The cat flap thwacked a couple of times.When I went to check they were both in their basket, exhausted and sound asleep.

Do not read this before you eat........

I am having a bad week. Mrs Birdwatcher has gone off on a course (Creative writing) so I am in charge! The young birdwatchers think that this is great, because as my daughter keeps on telling me "Dad you can't keep control". The cats think this is great, because I forget to keep them secured in the utility room at night, so they get to sleep in the sitting room.

On Monday morning, I was struggling to get the young people up for school. Mrs B never has this problem, they just do what she says, admittedly there is a lot of muttering, but they do it. I popped down stairs to the front room and noticed a strange smell. The sort of smell that cats make when they have been locked in a room overnight! They were lying guiltily by the radiator. I could not see anything. It was early and my brain was not working properly yet, but I knew that they had done something! It was only when I got in to the kitchen and glanced down at my slippers that I realised that I was right and that I had stepped in it!

The young people found this very amusing. The cats decided that they would be better off popping outside for a bit. I had some scrubbing to do.

And then there is the washing machine. Don't get me wrong I am quite capable of using it and do so quite regularly but.......why does the contents of the laundry basket have to be sorted out into so many different piles? When I lived alone, I used to just put everything into the machine turn it on a low heat and let it get on with it. Nothing shrank and nothing came out looking pink! Now it all has to be sorted. And there does not appear to be any logic to it. If all the light coloured things and all the dark things went in separate piles I could understand. But its much more complicated than that. Not all dark things can go with any old dark thing, and you can't just sling it all into the dryer now. How can you tell which can and which can't? Mrs B says its down to practise (plenty of it) and being able to interpret the funny little signs on the labels. I think its a con. Life is too short, so I shall take a chance and go back to my old tried and trusted ways.

Monday evening.

I don't believe it. I have just gone into the sitting room. Both young people were sitting on the sofa, well sort of slouched, heaped amongst the cushions. They were watching something on the telly. I asked them what it was. I think they said "Simpson's" but I had stopped listening to them. My attention had been taken by the large orange and brown stain on the arm rest of the cream coloured sofa.

I pointed at it. "What the fucks that" I wanted to say. But they are still young people so I left the "the fucks" out. "What's that?" a slightly hysterical note to my voice.

They both looked at where I was pointing. Fourteen year old daughter, for it was she sitting / slouching nearest to it, shrugged her shoulders and said "Its nothing, just a few drops of juice that got splashed. We have cleaned it up!" This last a defiant challenge.

"Well that's not good enough, it needs to be cleared up properly." I said

Sound of slamming door preceded by "Your so unfair....."

Only four days of me "not being in control" left. But the damage is mounting. Perhaps if I got all the washing done it would make things better?