Denise > I went to the guest bedroom to fetch something or other, and when I went back – just a few moments later – to return it, I found a cat on the counterpane – Princess Pickle ensconced on the royal bed, like a Tudor monarch for an audience with the Privy Council!
My photo didn’t catch her expression when I first saw her: it said, “Oh, do let me stay here a little while!”.
But we didn’t.
Now, hours later, Pickle’s outside in the garden at dusk, still punishing us for the affront to her dignity of being turned out of the guest room. She’s hiding somewhere amongst the bushes, refusing to acknowledge our calls, or the rattle of her favourite biscuits in her special bowl (she can tell the difference!!) and making us worry about her staying out all night. “That’ll teach them”, she’s thinking : spitefulness, J says, is a trait of advanced intelligence. That’s something Pickle’s only ever actually done twice in nine years – so she’ll probably come in anyway, when J comes back from his bedtime walk with Tilly.
Denise: The most recent batch of Buff Orpington chicks we incubated have now ‘feathered up’ nicely, and are big enough for moving house to join the adults here in the walled garden. J scooped them up out of the hen ark where they’ve been ‘grown on’ for the past few weeks, and passed them to me in handfuls of three to take over to the new hen-house in the south-east corner of the garden. He snatched this picture of the last handful: and they certainly were on a handful, as the next photo J took [not in this slide-show!] you could see a swear-word taking shape on my lips as the three of them made a bid for freedom in three different directions!
Pickle arrived to get involved in anyway she could – she really does think she’s human, you know!
Pickle didn’t come in this evening, despite the bitter cold and us calling out for her frequently. A week or more ago she didn’t re-appear until morning, absolutely ravenous for her breakfast; and she’s done the same before. I was beginning to worry that she was unhappy at our house: she’s always been a bit of a loner and independent, and maybe she’s taken up with a neighbour who fusses over her and doesn’t have a house full of other cats and dogs! I’d just reconciled myself to that possibility, and mentally ‘let go of her’ when suddenly she appeared at the window desperate to come in. But J says she wasn’t cold or damp, so she may have been – say – mousing in Mary and Patrick’s shed or store, and got shut in, escaping when Patrick went out to shut the dog in the shed or get some coal for the Rayburn. Whatever the explanation, Pickle has been purring and fussing us, just to let us know how much she likes us.