Cats are like buses

You can see one all day, then four come along at once!

Ginger hung out with me most of the day outside on Saturday, but later on was joined by his brother.



Bagpuss of course came by, closely followed by Blackie.




I have come to have closer acquaintance with Blackie recently.

Of an evening, you might find me here at my computer in the sitting room. The kitchen door is open, the weather being very temperate, and as Ginger is usually out and about, I generally don't close it until we settle down for the night. I can hear the "tick tick tick" of little cat feet on the wooden hall floor, once they come past the kitchen. Lately, I'm not sure who I'm going to find - could be Bagpuss, could be Big Ginger. The other night it was Blackie! He liked the petting. He ate the food. He enjoyed the scratching behind the ears.

How many cats are going to feel they have carte blanche to walk freely into my house??

Now, I can handle this, as long as they don't do the spraying thing. I have found a solution, however, for when I'm working in the garden, and someone or other wanders in looking for food.

I found this lovely bit of trellis at Aldi on Saturday, intending to put it up for one of the climbers and see how it looked. In the meantime, however, it works extremely well as a "catgate" so that anyone can wander in and have a bite of food, but not get further in and do something objectionable. This also saves me from having to stop what I'm doing to monitor them.

This will also stop me muttering under my breath, "push off, pussy". I say this due to the following poem, which has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

So without further ado and with grateful thanks to Emerson Clarke, I share his poem with you, "Requiem for a Departed Cat".

Push off, pussy
To your reward
At some distant mousehole
Or midnight walk.
Pussy, push off.

Push off, pussy,
Nevermore to roll you dish
Out of reach beneath sink
Or Frigidaire.
Pussy, push off.

Push off, pussy,
Gone are your claws
Ripping to shreds
The sofa seat.
Pussy, push off.

Push off, pussy.
The trace of you begone
From corners secretive
And redolent with your
Careful deposit.
Pussy, push off.

Push off, pussy,
To some distant Edelweiss
Where cans of your snacks
Are stacked high and smellwise.
Pussy, push off.

Push off, pussy,
To some catnip land
Where the moon hangs high
Over an endless alley.
Pussy, push off -
Push off.