Here We Go Again

It was not from lack of trying, or any kind of laziness - as my faithful readers know (and thank you for being faithful) I had a bad year, last year.  I kind of let the garden go.  I had some tomatoes in bags to harvest in September, and they were nice, but after July, I lost heart.  I had a hole in my heart so big, it took me a while to get back to normal.

Normal.  Normal will never be the same again, and on this day in the USA, I wish every mother a very Happy Mother's Day.

There, that's done. Back to the garden.

Yikes!

This winter was the hardest I have ever known in the UK since I've lived here.  I worry very much about Global Warming.  I worry that we are losing the Gulf Stream due to rising seas from the polar ice caps melting.  There was not so much snow, as compared to previous years, but it was a long, cold time. And it's not over.  We should have had, by now, some better weather, not just a day here and there, but it doesn't seem to be forthcoming.

But thankfully, the Bank Holiday weekend last weekend was, surprisingly wonderful.

Time to cut the grass!

You may remember how bad it was last year, the first time, when it had gotten so long - and I left it and left it.  This year, I really didn't mean to - I was hoping in March that I would have a window of opportunity to do it, but no.  Not with this crazy winter.  And then, I left for Chicago to visit my Dad for two weeks.

On the 4th of April, I left the UK and it was snowing.  Yes, snowing.  I arrived in Chicago and it was nice - nicer, which was to last only two or three days.  When I left Chicago to return home, on the 19th of April, it was snowing.  Something wrong here.

So, at last, just last weekend, I had the opportunity to cut the grass.  The long, long grass.  Ouch.  Thankfully, my trusty mower did it again - something I don't want to put it through often!

I am left with the need to weed the left and the right.  I'm not sure about the left - it is looking okay.  I thought I might cut back the Ceanothus on the right, which has gone crazy, but perhaps not.  I'm excited for it to flower (it's very late).  The Choisya on the left, again, going mental but that has been there for many years now, and I don't feel the need to cut that back either.  I'm not sure what I can do for the left border apart from some heavy weeding.

And it seems like a long time ago now, that Bank Holiday weekend, but someone else was enjoying that sunshine as well.

May the sun come back again, in abundance and warmth, very soon.

Gingerella

Says "hi"

Meeeooowwww.

Kitties Leave, Kitties Arrive

As you know, our Ginger is gone.

Our beautiful, special, white-whiskered boy who loved us so much.

You may remember the neighbours who moved in with their Mitzi.  They've just moved to the West Indies!  Nice for some, bit of a change of weather, hey?

Mitzi is happily ensconced, I believe, with her "grandmother" who always looked after her when they were away.  And is queen of the garden, so I understand.

We had some new neigbours move in upstairs recently.  They found a mouse in their flat.  And promptly acquired a cat.

Now, this cat can't go out into the garden at will - there is no direct access from upstairs.  So this kitty will need to be an indoor cat, unless they actually bring her downstairs, round the back, and let her have a little run around.

I don't think cat owners usually do that.  I mean, you don't take your cat for a walk, do you?

No, it looks like the garden belongs to .... hello.

You all remember that there was a second ginger cat, right?  The sister/friend/compatriot of Ginger.  A female (yes, I checked).

You know that she came by often, to hang out with her bro.  And us, too.

After our boy left this earthly plane, the other one, and let's just start as we mean to go on and call her Gingerella, started coming on by again.  An evening here and there maybe, for a scratch of the cheek more than for a bite.  Checking on in to say "hi".

But one evening, after about two weeks, I walked into the house after a long day's work.  Husband was working away, and so it was just me - I was taking off my jacket in the sitting room and I heard, "meow".

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

What I had been longing to hear every night when I got home, there it was.

Hello?

Gingerella had, for the first time ever, decided to come in the cat flap.

Since then, Gingerella has moved in.

We also have a new cat.  She has not left our side, much, since that moment she decided to make this house, her home too.

I could over-analyse too much and say does she miss him, and therefore stay with us?  Or did she always want to be with us, but couldn't because of him?  Because she sure as heck does love the socks off us.

Oh my goodness, she has a purr like a drill hammer. I have never, ever met a cat with such a purr.  She's gotten much more vocal, too - what started as a very polite "meow" is now "uh, hello, I have something to say".  I still haven't worked out what the meow's mean.  But we sure as heck love this girl.  And I feel bad that yet again, we have taken someone else's cat - well.  We didn't make her.  Or him.  I don't know.  This cat loves us top to bottom and we love her back.  And that's really what matters.

Silly Kitty

Four Day Weekend

One day's work.

That's right, out of a potential four days of gardening, I managed to dodge the raindrops to get in a day's work.  That includes a visit to the garden centre to pick out some plants on Sunday (generally an awful day) and the luxury of little rain in the afternoon on Monday.  Even a tiny bit of sun peeked out.

Sigh.


So, off to Phoebe's Garden Centre on Sunday to purchase three tomato plants, two courgettes, and a cucumber.  Two lovely little Nemesias because I couldn't resist.  Sadly none of the easy-carry just-add-water compost I'm so fond of.  A 10-litre bag of compost which was all we could carry, not nearly enough to do anything with.

Monday was promised to be at least fair.  But first I needed to get more compost because the plan is to plant the tomatoes in these.

I discovered that the local Homebase had something like my easy-carry compost.  Sadly, it filled one of these.  It is made by Miracle Gro, so I'm sure it's good, but obviously not nearly enough (more is on order from the internet).  So at the moment, all three tomato plants are in a temporary home, in the one.

That's not all I managed to do.  The herb border was being overrun - by weeds only, so that is now cleared (note the Jasmine is still alive - shhhhhhhhhhhh)




Job number 2:  clear the recently "Ready" vegetable border of cat poop.  It seems the cats have decided that, apart from any other part of the garden, this particular border is now their litter box.  That was the second purchase from Homebase:  Growing Success Cat Repellent.

This is not of course to repel the cats entirely from the garden, but from this plot.  I could get all sorts of cat repellents; sonic repellents and such, which would eject the cats from the garden completely.  But since I have a cat, no, all I wanted to do was keep them off the border.

So I cleared the patch - again - of poop, hoed, raked, ready once more.

This is when the disturbing thing happened.  There is no photographic evidence of this, it all happened so fast.  I'm not sure if the sequence of events is related, but here goes.  Ginger squats in the newly once again prepared patch (but not yet sprinkled with cat repellent).  I shout "no", and pick him up mid-squat and place him in an acceptable place.  He does his thing.  Fine.  He vacates the garden through the hole in the trellis, and minutes later returns with something squeaking in his mouth.  I heard the (loud) squeak before he appeared.  "Oh crap, is it a bird?".  No, it was a mouse.  In his mouth.  He sat and looked for approval.  "I've brought you a present".  "Oh crap".  Poor mousie.

Must remember to remove mouse body before I cut the grass.  I'm ... honoured.  Horrified.  That's never happened before.  "Good kitty" I say.  After all, it's what cats do and who am I to interfere in the nature of things.

Yuck.  (For the record I have no problem with mice.  Only spiders).

Border, by the way, is now sprinkled with Cat Repellent, and I'm happy to report when I looked today there was no poop.  It smells strongly of garlic - key ingredient, it seems - and seems to have done the trick.  Hurrah.

Even with all the rain today.

I leave with you a picture of the lovely Nemesias, in situ.  Berries and Cream, and Raspberries and Cream.



Am trying not to be too fed up with this gardening lark.

When the cat's away ...

Well actually it's not the cats being away, it's the man. All cat stuff breaks loose.

Ginger of course is in and out every day, and meowing like a big voiced cat that is just ... oh he drives me crazy sometimes. But I love the little guy.

This evening, as I have the night to myself, I discovered Big Brother outside the back door. I let him in of course, it's been about a week since I've seen him, and Ginger left the building to let him share the food.

All well and good. As I walked down the hall and looked into the bedroom, I thought, ah, Ginger is back, and down having a little cat nap.


So I went to give him a pet. Ah no, this was Bro. He did his own meow, and his percolator purr, as I stroked him (I'm told I'm good with my hands). Hey, make yourself at home, okay?

It's been about an hour now, and he shows no sign of moving. We just had a little scratching session and he turned on that purr that could tear down a building.

Between the one who has a meow that could cut glass, and mister purr factory, I've got some cat stuff going on here.

Trouble is, neither one of these really belong to me. Except Ginger I guess, as he insists (daily, and nightly??) that I belong to him.

Ginger cat city in Hither Green.

Call Me Crazy

But I thought this might be a help to get Ginger used to the cat flap. A leg up, as it were. Yes, it's a breakfast-in-bed kind of tray. But just the right height.

He seems to be coping okay - when I come home every night, I hear "meeeeoooowww" and see his little face through it.

And then he comes in, with a little bit of encouragement from me.

Problem is, I don't think he's coming in during the day. Sure, he sees the kitchen light go on when I get home and so he's there - but does he feel that this is his home?

That he is free to wander in and out through the cat flap at will? That was the idea.

Even the midnight feasts are still problematic - i.e. he still makes me get up. Mostly to watch him eat. For why.

Eventually, though, I leave him to it, go back to bed, and he goes out ...

And the cycle continues.

Trellises for Cats

So last weekend, we (or rather my husband) finally put a trellis in the longstanding gap-at-the-back that has existed since we moved in, over 4 years ago. It's been a long time coming, but it was worth the wait.



You see the gap at the far right? Where you can see the tree that is actually behind the fence level? I've never really pointed it out before but it is and always has been a major ingress for the cats and other assorted wildlife. Even the back neighbour's extremely annoying little dog. Not that there are many cats left hanging around, since Ginger kicked them all out.




Well, we've been meaning to plug that for a long time now. Providing, of course, there is still ingress for at least one or two cats, but not a Jack Russell.


What with the holding it up to mark drill points, and measuring, and all that, Ginger got a little suspicious, and so when we temporarily put it down, he decided to stage a sit-in protest. Or rather, a lie-in protest. It took some doing to shift him, and he wasn't happy.

Ah, but little did he know, and although I said "don't worry about the cat(s), he'll get round" husband decided to accommodate.

Behold, trellis with cat hole.

He was so very excited and pleased with this he insisted I go to Phoebe's to get a climber (my husband, not the cat). I was happy to oblige.

However, considering what is down in the soil, when trying to plant it I encountered some obstacles:

That was pretty solid, and wasn't moving. I don't have the time or the energy to dig massive big rocks or bits of concrete out of this soil anymore.

So in the end, we stuck it in a pot. Hey, it looks fine. And we're out of here soon.

I decided to buy an evergreen climber, and this is called a "Bluebell Creeper", or Sollya heterophylla.



And with that, coupled with the fact that the next door neighbour's landlord took responsibility for the fence on the left (which really was ours ...) and repaired it (we meant to, honest!)

the garden is now completely enclosed, for the first time ever. Nothing can come in or out, except cats of course, perhaps foxes, and even hedgehogs.

Do you know what my first thought was?

"We could get a dog now."

You won't be surprised to hear of course ...

that I made friends with a cat whilst in Spain.

And very friendly he was, too. Well deserving of a bit of petting.

My sister told me to wash my hands afterwards.

I'm not sure how much she actually likes cats.

The New (Cat) Neighbour

When the new neighbours moved in, next door on the ground floor like us, with their kitchen door opening onto the garden, my husband rang me with some fear in his voice; "they have a cat". Well, Ginger is a smart boy. He wasn't going to mess around with a neighbour, was he? But little scrapper that he is, maybe we had a situation on our hands.

He hasn't scrapped. It's been a few weeks now, and Mitzi seems to have settled in.

That is one furry puss. Again my husband, worrying that we might alienate Ginger (and knowing my propensity for making friends with pretty much any and every cat) suggested that I don't get too close to her.

Close to her? With that hair? Remember, I am still technically allergic to cats. I know, hahahahaha, that isn't going on with Ginger, or Big Bro for that matter. Orange Tabbies seem to rule ok. But such a furry thing, hmmm. My eyes kinda tear up just looking at her.

Well, she hasn't let me get to close to her, but there don't seem to have been any fights.

Last weekend when Ginger made himself comfy in the shed

Mitzi seemed rather jealous. She was perched at the bottom of the path, and when Mr. G was sitting nearby, I heard that guttural cat noise. A kind of, cat "f*** you". Ginger wasn't bothered. I watched curiously, ready to intervene, but nothing transpired. She even had a nose around the shed herself, at one point.

It's all a bit of a damp squib, and cats will rub along together. As will neighbours. Besides, Ginger seems to have pushed out every other cat that ever came wandering by our garden, whether they ever made friends with me or not:

Whitey, Blackie, where are they now? Surely still around, just not in our garden.

Just as well. I didn't mean to become "Cat Woman of Hither Green". No, I still meet them on the street, on the way home from the train (other cats, not the ones who used to inhabit this wild space) and they still lie down in front of me and say "pet me". Sometimes I think, "umm...give me a break?" Is "I Love Cats" tattooed on my forehead, for every cat to read? I do love cats, but I love dogs, too.

Mind you, dogs look at me in the same way. Not in a "take me home, feed me" kind of way, but a kind of "hey, you're a dog lover, cool man" way.

Or am I just anthropomorphising too much?

Apparently Shakespeare said, "people impute great cleverness to cats".

Well, so do I.

I am now rethinking the cat-flap situation though. If we're going to stay here another year, I feel it's only fair on Ginger. I mean after all, we are his people.

And Mitzi has one, so he might feel a little jealous ...

Friday Cuteness

I couldn't decide which one was cuter, so I'm sharing both.

Happy Friday!

Cracked it?

Ginger is eating a lot more lately. I sometimes worry he's a little skinny, but maybe it's because he so sleek. And active. With the improvement in the weather he is spending more time outdoors.

He is also back in the routine of living here as opposed to elsewhere, after our absence in February. Very much so.

I haven't changed his food choice per se, same old Whiskas fishy or meaty. It now resides in the covered bowl rather than on a (china) plate, which might make a difference. But I am surprised that everytime I put something down for him, he actually seems to eat most of it.

There are lyrics that always pop into my head every time I'm standing barefoot, on the cold kitchen floor, at 4 in the morning, waiting for him to finish so I can put him out and go back to bed: "it's such a gorgeous sight to see you eat in the middle of the night."

This is from Friday I'm in Love by The Cure. A band with odd/quirky/interesting song lyrics at the best of times, but this one always had me scratching my head - until I got a cat.

Not that I'm assuming that Robert Smith has a cat, but then another favourite Cure song is Love Cats (now playing).

And it is a gorgeous sight.

Windows of Opportunity

Speaking of those windows of opportunity, in my own garden, I have missed several since November.


After the disappearance of the arachnid population (where do they go? Do they die? Go underground?) I should have taken the opportunity to put the garden to bed for winter. Take down the tomatoes and clear the other vegetables, clear out as many weeds as possible, lay some newspaper down and cover with bark chips to keep the weeds suppressed until the spring.


That was the idea. But come November 30, this happened.

Not just a little flurry, or a light dusting.

I could count on two hands the number of times it has snowed in London at all during the winter, since the time I've lived here (20+ years). I could count on one hand the number of times it has snowed heavily at any time during the winter. And this is November, mind. That requires no hands to count on, in my memory.

This particular snowfall didn't fall just one day. The week was so bad, I couldn't actually make it to work on the Thursday. Train companies, you see, just cannot deal with this amount of snow here (perhaps a foot). Thankfully, Friday was a day I had booked off.

So the best laid plans for garden tidying were scuppered, and December never really improved, in terms of gardening.

January?

Went too fast. Suddenly I was packing to visit my parents in the Midwest.

So here we are again, it's March, and time for a clean-up. Spring cleaning, ugh. I could have made my life so much easier with just a little work in late Autumn.

The good news is Ginger has forgiven me for abandoning him for a full two weeks.
In fact he's just been making himself busy getting ginger hairs all over my black trousers. Again.

Somehow he seems to have managed just fine; in fact when I saw him, I thought, "hey Mr. Whiskers, you're looking rather chunky."

I wonder what they fed him?

Visitors

I am one of them. Visiting my parents home in the Midwest in February, just for a change.

For the first week of my visit, at least, I seemed to bring the weather with me. I even thought I might have a window of opportunity to sort out this mess.

However, this being Chicago, the temperatures dropped and there was more snow. So much for clearing the garden and getting it ready for Spring.

I did, however, have the chance to build a snowman with my brother, niece and nephew.

I saw an amazing full moon.

I celebrated a birthday (mine).

And made a friend - another visitor this morning.

He even stepped inside for a minute.

What is it with me and ginger cats?

Ginger Says

A Very Happy New Year.

Well actually, he's sound asleep here. In fact he is very deep in REM sleep, and his little feet were twitching like nobody's business. He was also vocalising. My husband managed to get this shot, and perhaps 30 seconds later he woke up.

To wish us all Very Happy New Year!

Finickiness

I often think back fondly to a time when I visited my husband on one of his trips to LA, where occasionally he stays with an acquaintance of his.

A beautiful place in one of the LA canyons, with pool, and beautiful garden.

Didn't get to swim that time, as it was just a bit too early in the year and I wasn't up for a freezing dip.

This couple, a lovely English couple who have lived out in LA for quite a while now (didn't stop them requesting that I bring them a jar or two of Bovril, though), also have five cats.

What I remember best, is the evening I arrived, I watched as the woman lovingly prepared five separate bowls of cat food. She mixed some dry in with some wet, seemed to spend an awfully long time getting it just right, and I thought to myself, "is that how it is done, then?".

But what I found most gratifying, the recollection that pleases me most as I have been in the same situation almost nightly, is that once all the bowls had been carefully placed in the places that obviously each cat expected their food ... not one of them touched it. Turned their noses up, turned tail, and walked away.

Food that I gave Ginger the night before, that he scarfed down, is not to his taste the next day. The amount of cat food I scrape into the bin is shocking. After a bit you just have to give up on it, as it becomes inedible (even to a cat!).

The LA cats all seemed to like to drink from the pool, though ...

Double Cat Fun

This is my cat. Ginger. Aka Mr Whiskers. Aka Scoodgems. Still not sure how to spell that.

This is his brother, the occasional visitor. Big Brother, I call him. Or, Bro.

Can you tell the difference? Bro has a pointier tail, and is more upright, whereas Ginger is rounder, a little bit fluffier, and cuddly.

The big difference is, when you're outside and it's dark, if you pick up Ginger you get cuddles - he moulds himself into your arms, top feet on top arm, back feet on lower arm, and a purr to accompany that - a cuddly, scoodgy little boy.

Pick up Bro by mistake, and you get FLAIL. Arms and legs everywhere, nuh huh, what do you think you are doing??

Funny thing is, apart from the fact that sure, they come in for food (I'm feeding two cats here on a regular basis, chuh)

I know that Ginger missed me when I was away in France. He was all over me, and in my face, and wouldn't leave me alone when I got back. He was like velcro.

But Big Brother? Every time I open the door, there he is. Don't you have a home to go to, kitty, I ask? Don't they give you scratches like I do? Heck, he almost did that thing recently - the kneading thing. I thought he might crawl into my lap. And he's got a purr like a drill hammer. You could hear that purr two blocks away.

Hello? You're not my cat. I love you pussums, but you're not my cat ...

Can you tell the difference?