Cat and mouse
Up with the sparrows this morning, and made Lorraine breakfast before she went on her way. For me a day of writing deathless poetry was plan A. A rambling sort of poem I started at the beginning of the week fell fully formed into place as an excellent (I think) short poem. Made me think of Keats and his idea that poetry should come as naturally as leaves to a tree or not at all. Things all progressing swimmingly interspersed with stroking and gloating over my new iMac.
The cats being suspicious this morning, and then Calliope arrived with a 100% alive mouse. They had a stand off in my study, and when the poor squeaking thing turned to face Calliope, she suddenly lost her nerve for a second. Then the mouse ran around my study and hid. Calliope in hot pursuit crashing through all my precious things, computer wires, guitars etc. like an angry poltergeist. Having rolled my socks up over my trousers I was on Facebook and got advice. Charlotte said to put down a cereal packet and this almost worked but the mouse escaped. Phil Martin said to wait for a woman to come home. (Not a possible strategy here as Lorraine screams at rodents.) I kicked Calliope out, who then scratched at the door infernally. Mouse took up residence under my bookcase, and I tried to coax it with reasoning, a long ruler then a Wellington boot, which Spooner said will see as a tunnel and run into.
Calliope went off for a sleep, Brian took over and by his constant attention to my old guitar amp I plucked this away, and discovered the mouse had crawled into the storage area at the back. I was able to rush it downstairs. Not before it almost escaped in the kitchen, but I managed to recatch it midair in the hole in the amp. Released it apparently completely unharmed into the garden. This participation in the ancient rodent/feline antipathy lasted hours. Is it too much to ask to be sitting at one's desk uninterrupted? It seems yes. A man telling me on the doorstep I was rude (one of those bogus door to door scallies who come down from far away places to sell bits of dodgy domestic cloths etc. and pretend to be in charities). I'd simply closed the door on him, and left him shouting in the front garden.
Spoke to Anton and Mum, on FaceTime, back safely from Panama and Canada, also saw Mas and Ben via Mum's screen. L and I plan to go up to see Mum and Mas on Saturday. Otherwise a peaceful day. Lorraine with the sore throat etc. I had last week, but I gave her sausage casserole, and she ate Beth's chocolate and had a glass of wine and seemed to be somewhat improved.
Below the Weetabix approach. A failure, as was the boot approach.
The cats being suspicious this morning, and then Calliope arrived with a 100% alive mouse. They had a stand off in my study, and when the poor squeaking thing turned to face Calliope, she suddenly lost her nerve for a second. Then the mouse ran around my study and hid. Calliope in hot pursuit crashing through all my precious things, computer wires, guitars etc. like an angry poltergeist. Having rolled my socks up over my trousers I was on Facebook and got advice. Charlotte said to put down a cereal packet and this almost worked but the mouse escaped. Phil Martin said to wait for a woman to come home. (Not a possible strategy here as Lorraine screams at rodents.) I kicked Calliope out, who then scratched at the door infernally. Mouse took up residence under my bookcase, and I tried to coax it with reasoning, a long ruler then a Wellington boot, which Spooner said will see as a tunnel and run into.
Calliope went off for a sleep, Brian took over and by his constant attention to my old guitar amp I plucked this away, and discovered the mouse had crawled into the storage area at the back. I was able to rush it downstairs. Not before it almost escaped in the kitchen, but I managed to recatch it midair in the hole in the amp. Released it apparently completely unharmed into the garden. This participation in the ancient rodent/feline antipathy lasted hours. Is it too much to ask to be sitting at one's desk uninterrupted? It seems yes. A man telling me on the doorstep I was rude (one of those bogus door to door scallies who come down from far away places to sell bits of dodgy domestic cloths etc. and pretend to be in charities). I'd simply closed the door on him, and left him shouting in the front garden.
Spoke to Anton and Mum, on FaceTime, back safely from Panama and Canada, also saw Mas and Ben via Mum's screen. L and I plan to go up to see Mum and Mas on Saturday. Otherwise a peaceful day. Lorraine with the sore throat etc. I had last week, but I gave her sausage casserole, and she ate Beth's chocolate and had a glass of wine and seemed to be somewhat improved.
Below the Weetabix approach. A failure, as was the boot approach.
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