Blowing Hot and Cold!

Nature has confused one's feline senses somewhat these last two weeks. The English spring has sprung, and recoiled, in its predictably unpredictable manner. Millhouse is the most disorientated. His youthful hormones giving him random kittenish moments of excited wonderment which are interspersed with periods of woeful disappointment at the rain and cold. This is illustrated by an afternoon lolling around on the lawn, paws upward in the balmy sunshine followed the next day by padding across an inch of cold, wet snow severely curbing his zestiness and discouraging any wicked playfulness. The added complication amongst these mixed influences is that the humans have quite independently decided to go about their daily routines an hour earlier than during the winter. How are we supposed to know what's afoot! Not only do they wake us up earlier, but when we rally together at our normal feed times, we're tutted at for being late!
The garden birds are, of course, very busy at this time regardless of the weather. They swoop over our domain like acrobats presumably just to tease us. Well, teasing Millhouse more than me actually, because I've seen it all before. Millhouse, on the other hand, is all over the place. Leaping in the air, batting and swiping like Pete Sampras. Luckily for them, he's not yet good enough to be seeded and doesn't succeed -if you'll excuse the expression. This morning, for example, on spotting a little Hedge Sparrow on the bird table, Millhouse charged across the snowy lawn and made a flying leap for the table only missing the prim and proper chappie by inches. 'Good try!' I thought, but Mr. soon gave him a strong, finger wagging, reprimand which was received with the customary 'ears back what'sthematterwithyou?' look from Millhouse.
For myself, I've managed to pick the odd evening sunshine moment to sit in front of the garage door for a quiet wash; a favourite activity of mine in the summer. Once or twice, I've even managed to meet Mr. coming home from work and so have reintroduced the whittling down of the front door trellis post ritual. Another couple of years and it'll have the waisted look of an egg timer!
Sunny windowsills are a choice spot for a warm loll at this time of year. 'Think I'll just have half an hour on one right now - oh, unless I've just missed my lunch again. Better check that first.

Herky