… may be unwinnable…
… may be unwinnable…
I think he may even have started to infiltrate the ginger one too.
If I don’t post for a while, call in Sigourney Weaver!
cats are no good at gardening?
OK. So I’m weird. I have six cats.
Here are a couple of them – the dinner-suit boys.
Well this morning I suddenly found this in my kitchen.
It seems that my eldest daughter is going to Karneval as a black and white cat.
Tuna for lunch then.
It was my birthday at the weekend.
On Friday my husband suddenly announced that he was taking me for an impromptu weekend trip to Bruges in Belgium – so we flung a few clothes into a bag and off we toddled.
If anyone hasn’t visited Bruges… it’s one of those things you must do before you die. The entire city consists for medieval streets, houses, pubs, churches and public buildings. All of them are beautiful and many absolutely breathtaking in their loveliness. It’s like walking into a medieval timewarp – the sense of history is overwhelming.
What’s more… the town is alive. It’s not a museum, or a Disneyland. There are real people living their day-to-day lives in these houses and these streets.
We had a fabulous birthday lunch on the St. Stevinplaats and then wandered around the town, browsing the shops, marvelling at the buildings and the canals.
There were two other highlights of the day. One was a very specially made gift from my daughter – a mug she had printed with a photo-montage of photos she took of our various cats.
The other highlight was finding this lovely review of Planet Germany on Andie’s blog. What a fabulous surprise… it really made my already perfect day!
We decided to keep three of the kittens in the end. This week they had their debut in the big wide outdoor world.
It’s been wonderful watching them explore their new domain. The sheds and woodstores have been popular – there are some great hiding places.
Helping (ahem) with the gardening is also a new favourite pastime.
And of course… whenever a plantpot gets knocked over, or a bag of potting compost ripped….
…it wasn’t me! Honest!
You already know that my daughter’s cat is currently under suspicion of being a nazi infiltrator in our household. Well, I suspect that he’s now started to expand his influence within the household… let me explain.
Over the past week or so, my dear husband has been suffering from a bad cold. Now, those of you who either are male or live with one of that species will know that the combination of a man and a bad cold is a pretty serious proposition. We’re talking about a man-cold here. For those who are not aware of the severity of this… I’ve included a short clip to remind you.
Now… it so happens that this man-cold has caused my husband to blow his nose a lot – and he has a sore area directly below his nostrils. As a result of this a scab has formed there. And he is unable to shave the centre part of his upper lip.
Now obviously at first (following the advice of the video) I was sympathetic. I made chicken soup. I said “Poor bunny” and “Can I fetch you something.”
But then, this morning, I happened to catch sight of something that made my blood run cold. I saw my husband stroking the cat.
It all made sense now… the cold must be some form of cat flu, brought into the house deliberately to infect the humans with Hitler-moustaches. The two of them are in league! Before we know it the kittens will have been recruited too and then the Anschluß of next door’s garden will start in earnest.
You have been warned!
The kittens are all growing up now… and it’s utter, total mayhem in our house. Wherever you try to step….wherever you try to sit down, there’s a kitten there already. By the time you’re reading this post I’ll probably have broken my neck.
Even something as simple as putting a box on the floor with old newspapers for recycling seems to attract a horde of kittens… it’s like having a toddler’s birthday party in your home day-in-day-out. Here’s the scene in our living room earlier.
A few people have left messages asking whether any of the kittens are available for adoption… the answer is yes. We’ll keep two of them – but the other three are looking for good homes. They’re all males – and even I think five is too many tomcats for one house! Leave a message if you’re seriously interested in giving a home to one of them (and live somewhere around Düsseldorf).
Our cat Sooty gave birth to five beautiful kittens four weeks ago.
For anyone who hasn’t had this experience… I thought I’d tell the story of a month in kittens.
When they’re first born they look like this – sort of blind mouse-creatures with claws and whiskers.
By three weeks of full-fat mother’s milk, they’re more like fat little guineau pigs – and spend most of their time climbing over each other to get at one of Mum’s teats
Then at four weeks, suddenly they’re miniature cats, their eyes are open and they’re learning to walk…
“C’mon guys… there’s a whole suite of furniture out here for us to test our claws on….”
“What do I do with the right paw again?”
“….and now you lift the left and put your weight on the right….”
Today… the kitchen floor.
Tomorrow… the curtains! Muhahahahaha!
I’m worried about my daughter’s cat.
Here in Germany the Green Party is running a set of posters alerting people to the risk of a new rise in neo-nazism. The posters look like this.
Well of course I thought nothing of it when I saw the posters, other than admiring a nice bit of photo-shop manipulation. I thought the image was meant to be allegorical. And anyway, nobody living around our neighbourhood looks remotely like a neo-nazi. In fact most of them don’t look like a neo anything.
But then I arrived home and spotted my daughter’s white cat out patrolling the garden. I couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d been struck on the head by a falling paint bucket!
Here’s the chilling sight that greeted me!
It was all there! The hair, the moustache. The way he was walking along the fence with a clear plan to invade and annex next door’s garden. The tendency to bully small rodents in the garden. The small furry or feathery corpses on the doormat in the mornings.
There could no longer be any doubt. My worst nightmare was realised.
By day, he’s undercover as a lazy fluffy feline who spends 12 hours at a stretch sprawled on top of the radiator next to my desk. By night he’s engaged as a right wing activist in an illegal feline organisation. He’s a turncoat, a traitor, a lickspittle and a cad.
My daughter’s cat is a nazi!
I’ll never live this down!