In a flap. Not
Dahlinks, my apologies for taking so long to put paw to keyboard. Much has happened and I have been, ahem, preoccupied.
The big news, of course, is that She Who Controls the Can Opener forcibly uprooted me in June. Talk about a drop in social circumstances. One minute I was living the high life in many-roomed Victorian mansion of gothic splendour. The next, I found myself positively crammed into a two-up two-down terrace abode some half a mile away. What a comedown. I suppose I should be grateful She did not install us in some ghastly council flat although I hear it wasn't from lack of trying.
So - here we are. It's not too bad, I suppose. But there is no flap. I now find myself in the appalling position of having to beg when I want to go out. And that is positively embarrassing when I want to go about my "business". I am getting used, slowly, to the loss of complete autonomy. That said, the lack of a flap gives rise to opportunities to wind Her up. Take this evening, for example. She left the back door open so I could wander the back garden (I must say, the garden here is definitely superior to the previous one). By the time it got dark, She was whistling frantically for me to come in so She could lock up. Little did she know I'd already sneaked back in some 30 minutes earlier and secreted my personage so cleverly She had no idea. How I tittered as I listened to Her increasingly frantic calls. Eventually, I had to show myself, of course, otherwise I'd never hear the last of it.
It was reminiscent of my Great 3-Day Escape in early July. I went out for a stroll, hopped off the neighbour's shed roof into the alley and took an extended constitutional around my new territory. Just to assert my presence, you understand. Well, some kind soul across the street invited me in for a snack, their hearth was warm and cosy and I just sort of settled in for the duration. It took Her 3 whole days to track me down. Surely if She cared, She would have rescued me sooner. I'm not quite sure why She was distressed when I reappeared. I shall never understand women.
Anyway, I am exhausted now. This journalism lark can be so tiring. More soon, dahlinks - I have much to tell. But now I require sleep and dreams of mice...
The big news, of course, is that She Who Controls the Can Opener forcibly uprooted me in June. Talk about a drop in social circumstances. One minute I was living the high life in many-roomed Victorian mansion of gothic splendour. The next, I found myself positively crammed into a two-up two-down terrace abode some half a mile away. What a comedown. I suppose I should be grateful She did not install us in some ghastly council flat although I hear it wasn't from lack of trying.
So - here we are. It's not too bad, I suppose. But there is no flap. I now find myself in the appalling position of having to beg when I want to go out. And that is positively embarrassing when I want to go about my "business". I am getting used, slowly, to the loss of complete autonomy. That said, the lack of a flap gives rise to opportunities to wind Her up. Take this evening, for example. She left the back door open so I could wander the back garden (I must say, the garden here is definitely superior to the previous one). By the time it got dark, She was whistling frantically for me to come in so She could lock up. Little did she know I'd already sneaked back in some 30 minutes earlier and secreted my personage so cleverly She had no idea. How I tittered as I listened to Her increasingly frantic calls. Eventually, I had to show myself, of course, otherwise I'd never hear the last of it.
It was reminiscent of my Great 3-Day Escape in early July. I went out for a stroll, hopped off the neighbour's shed roof into the alley and took an extended constitutional around my new territory. Just to assert my presence, you understand. Well, some kind soul across the street invited me in for a snack, their hearth was warm and cosy and I just sort of settled in for the duration. It took Her 3 whole days to track me down. Surely if She cared, She would have rescued me sooner. I'm not quite sure why She was distressed when I reappeared. I shall never understand women.
Anyway, I am exhausted now. This journalism lark can be so tiring. More soon, dahlinks - I have much to tell. But now I require sleep and dreams of mice...
posted by Unknown @ 10:10 PM
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