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.