Bloody Cat

 Marlowe is so very old and arthritic these days (or so he says) that he has to be lifted onto the bed- poor  thing. Only, looking out of the high window where I sit to write, I've just watched him stroll across the shed roof in a neighbour's garden (the one who was flying the Pride flags last week) and lower himself into the garden beyond. "I just hope you know your way back," I mutter.

Something yelps behind me. He's here again. And it's only five minutes since there were two tall fences and various other obstacles between us. I wish I knew how he did it.

Cats are con artists. Also magic.

Here Comes The World

 Ever since we got ourselves therapeutically regressed- and were told by our Higher Selves it was time we went out into the world and engaged with it rather more than we have been doing the world has come running at us from all sides. It's rather exciting.

The latest thing is that my eldest son and his wife are expecting a child in the New Year.

In January- my birth month...

Yes!