A Thick Ear for Boris and The General Strike.

Me; being a lert. Cats need to be lerts! (Click on this piccy to see how handsome I still am at 16 years old!)
At last, the weather is beginning to stabilise and, with the extended daylight, Millhouse and I've been able to settle into our summer routines.
For Millhouse, this means slinking out of the flatcap at first light to play with the local wildlife. For the most part the wildlife play with him, I think, because he always returns, slightly out of breath, at 6.30am for his breakfast. The trouble with these early morning adventures is that with the long grass being so dewy, his white fluffy underbelly and baggy trousers not only absorb 3 litres of moisture and dirt, but the odd bedraggled weed comes home with him too.
On Monday, he was in a mischievous mood. It happened that ponderous Boris lurched around the corner staring blithely into space as usual when Millhouse happened to be sitting on the garden bench. Full of bravado, Millhouse enthusiastically pounced on the poor old soul; but oh so suddenly, that dim-witted Boris barely knew what was going on. Much cat swearing ensued before the old boy plodded off. Slowly, he turned back the way he'd come, mumbling to himself, "Zese common type moggies, zey 'ave no sense of ze etiquette! Mein Gott, Boris zey haff such bad manners!"
While the humans are out in their tin wheelie things, we slop about the house in our summer flopping places until, just before they're due home. Our empty tumlettes tell us it's that time of day. I wander round to the front of the establishment settling down in the flower box by the front door to await the arrival of one of the tin wheelie things.
The trouble is, when they zoom up the drive, they're heading straight at the front door and me! 'Damn it Herks,' I think. 'Better get outta here!' I lose my cool and have to frantically scramble to my feet and shoot under the bushes. One day they'll knock the bloomin' house down!
Well, they never do. Out I come to do my cat greeting....Tail up....Whittle away a bit more of the trellis post; then it's off to the kitchen to digest some of the human's meaty affection.
Talking of gastronomic love, Millhouse and I held a very successful sit-down demonstration this week. We fancied a change of menu, so we both agreed to refuse to eat the normal food. Yes...just sat there in front of our bowls; paws on cat hips and looked expectant at Mr and Mrs.; milled about a bit and generally got under their feet. Presto! Within days the menu was amended and all is pouchy hunky-dory, well actually ...gravy..... until the next time we change our minds, that is. Oh, the power of persuasion....and stary accusing green eyes!



Herky