Of Cats and Butterflies and Trees

Of Cats and Butterflies and Trees

Our kittens are growing fast. Still lanky of leg and long of body they are extremely lively and very vocal. Each kitten has adopted a different member of the family though they are all very affectionate and demand a lot of attention from whoever happens to be available for a good purring. Isambard’s favourite person is Barry and Jellicoe favours me. Herschel’s chosen companion is Bertie. Actually, they all like Bertie.

The morning ritual involves the kittens calling as soon as they hear our voices. They do not, as yet, sleep in our bedroom – the dogs deserve a place of sanctuary!

Barry emerges to ecstatic miaous and purrs and then he calls Bertie out. Immediately the kittens flock to our golden boy and rub all round him, curling their tails about his body and pushing their faces against his and Bertie loves it.

Recently we have had weather warm enough to encourage us to open the patio door. Across it there is a mesh screen to allow fresh air in and prevent kittens going out. Soon we shall erect a fence within the garden to enable the little boys access to the Great Outdoors. 

The Purr…fect Cat Fence has been delivered from the States and awaits our endeavours to assemble it. First, though, shrubs and trees in the garden have had to be lopped and trimmed so that adventurous felines do not find a way to escape into the even Greater Outdoors. 

The most drastic operation has involved the slaughter pruning of our holly tree. 

No longer can the starlings and blue tits, blackbirds and thrushes rely on its prickly cover to protect them from the attentions of the sparrowhawk.

In the course of all this woodwork gardening Barry discovered that our garden shredder was not up to the job of reducing the extraneous limbs and branches to mulch and spent several happy hours researching the best machine for the job.  We were surprised when it was delivered to see how big – and heavy – it was. ‘It’s a big bugger, innit?’ we said to each other in our best Mummerset accents. 

Naturally the box it came in had to be explored . . . 

 . . . as did the shredder basket.

It is very efficient and reasonably quiet. We haven’t quite got to the stage of looking for things to cut down so that we can use it but that time is not far off, I suspect.

We shan't see any of these this year! 

I noticed a solitary holly blue butterfly disconsolately circling the remains of the tree, wondering where she was now going to lay her eggs. I hope I’m sure the tree will recover and send forth new green shoots. 

However, visiting redwings will be sorely disappointed when they fly in to feast on holly berries in the winter – there will be none this year.

We are wondering how many times the brothers will fall in the pond. My guess is probably only once, unless they decide they like swimming. The bird feeders will have to be moved to a spot beyond the fence. It means we shall not be able to observe them at quite such close quarters but at least we will remain innocent of putting them on the menu for the boys!

The sun has disappeared again so the fence will remain in its component parts in the garage and the cats will have to remain content with gazing at the garden from the safety of indoors.

I hope the Saga of the Cat Fence will be a short one – I have my doubts, though;-) 

I am linking this post to 'Camera Critters'. Thank you, Misty, for hosting this meme.

Jigsaws

Jigsaws – you either love them or hate them. I fall into the first category and find it almost impossible to pass a work in progress without accepting the challenge of fitting at least one piece. Some jigsaws are rather thin and cheap, the parts creasing or breaking off. Others are sturdy and cleanly cut. Wooden jigsaws are wonderful – colourful chunky sections designed to be held in hot little hands and to withstand many of the rigours small children can impose on their toys.

The worst jigsaws are the papery cardboard ones to be found in cheap Christmas crackers or as free gifts in packets of cereal or children's magazines. It was just such a one I was wrestling with recently. Actually, it was worse than a freebie because the pieces were so small, each one approximately one and five sixteenths by three sixteenths of an inch (3.4 centimetres x 0.5 centimetres) You may have realised by now that this was no ordinary jigsaw. In fact it was a 'failed delivery' card from Royal Mail indicating where and when a parcel for which Barry had been waiting could be signed for and collected. It had arrived while he was taking me to the railway station on Saturday (when did they start to be known as 'train stations' by the way?)

As it was a Bank Holiday on Monday he had to wait until today to pick it up but when he looked for the card yesterday it was nowhere to be found. Had I seen it? I could have pretended ignorance of the whole matter but would it have been better to spend the entire day on a spurious hunt with him becoming increasingly irate and repeating at frequent intervals, 'I left it there; I know I left it there. It can't have disappeared. Are you sure you haven't seen it?' or to come clean and confess that I had shredded it? Dear reader, I bit the bullet and bowed my head to receive the disbelieving scorn poured on it.

Now, you may wonder why I had destroyed the only evidence Barry had of the existence of a parcel addressed to him. If you had lived with him as long as I have you would nod your head in sympathy – empathy, even – for he is the untidiest individual I have ever known. Important details are scribbled on pieces of paper, backs of envelopes, till receipts, the back of his hand. I used to tidy them away (not his hand, obviously . . .) and we have been making an effort lately to make space in our increasingly cluttered house. We also have a number of deliveries throughout the year and delivery cards are like confetti – the last one certainly was by the time I'd minced it! – so when I saw it by the front door I assumed it referred to another package we had just received. 'Didn't you read it?' he demanded. It was not the time to make a clever rejoinder so I bit my tongue and got on with the task of putting the card back together. This involved searching through the contents of the shredder basket – it's amazing how many papers there are that are the same shade of Royal Mail red – and sticking them on transparent plastic. I had thought it through, you see – the back needed to be legible too. After an hour or two of this exercise I was getting nowhere fast and eventually Barry, having discovered that he had other evidence of his purchase and the subsequent right to the failed delivery, made me a cup of tea and apologised. He's a very nice man really.

Today he collected the parcel without any problems whatsoever. When I asked him if he'd explained what his idiot wife had done he tried to dissemble but the grin gave away the truth, bless him!

Did you know there are people, usually women, who are employed to put together important shredded documents? Maybe it's to do with industrial espionage or political fandangos but these women have small hands with nimble fingers. I haven't but I did quite well.