A tale of three cats

First there was Toffee.  We needed a mouser as our old cat Apple had a habit of bringing in live birds and mice; however, Toffee, despite coming from a half-feral family at a farm, proved to be just as useless.  Mice and birds were playthings, and playthings aren't fun if they are dead.  One day I saw Toffee catch a bird in the garden, and I rushed out the back door yelling at him, only to find him sitting innocently in the middle of the lawn. His wide eyes and perky ears seemed to be asking "what bird?".  Unfortunately his innocence was marred by the single wing sticking out from under his furry bum, beating the air frantically as the poor little bird tried desperately to escape!  Toffee is most definitely S's cat.  He will deign to sit on my lap, but only if S is not around.  As soon as S makes an appearance, I am abandoned.

Then Bailey arrived.  Bailey was not impressed with us.  He came to us as an overfed, antisocial 4 year old; he is now older, a nice healthy weight, and we are here for the sole purpose of providing him with food.  Except for C.  He adores C.  She can pick him up and drag him around; he sleeps on her bed; he goes up to her asking for a fuss.  At least we know where we stand.


And then last year, along came Callie.  Well, S and C both had 'their' cats, and I felt left out.  So down to the rescue centre I went, and I came home with a little tortie bundle of joy.


She was tiny, and perfect, and all mine.

A year on, and they have all come to an uneasy truce.  Bailey ignores Toffee completely, the same way he always has.  He ignores Callie too, unless she comes too close to him, and then he hisses and swipes; she used to run away, but now stands her ground and swipes back so we are entertained with a cat boxing match.  She's not daft though; she jumps on a chair first so she has the high ground.  Smart cat.  The biggest change is in Toffee, though.  A year ago he was a very elderly cat, spending all day sleeping and eating.  But now Callie plays with him, and he turns back into a kitten for a few minutes before he wanders off to nap.  I've even caught him playing with his catnip mouse, though he would deny it.

Like most cats, ours love to sleep.

and if they are really unlucky, they sleep on the patio, where C has been playing with chalk.

Bailey was unfortunate enough to roll in the chalk rather than just lie on it.  He is still slightly pink three weeks later.  He is most definitely not impressed.

Shakespeare and murder!

For our anniversary, we booked a Murder Mystery weekend with Joy Swift.  Three days in a gorgeous hotel, with gory murders and lots of good food and laughter.  You can't do better than that.

We were staying at Ettington Chase, near Stratford-upon-Avon, so of course we had to go and look at the lovely old town.

 So many little shops, so many little side streets and alleys!  We found a winding old alley with an amazing sweet shop, hundreds of glass jars on shelves in this tiny shop.  I felt about six years old.  Further down the alley was an antique shop, and at the end was a fortune teller.  It was like stepping back in time.

 

We took a walk along the river, and stood on a bridge watching about 30 swans enjoying nice healthy snacks being thrown in by tourists.  Bread and chips seemed to be the most abundant.  But at the back, almost hidden by the sea of beautiful white birds, there was a mother coot with five chicks.  They were tiny and fluffy, and hiding among some low branches.  Mummy coot would swim out and gather food in her beak, and then swim back, and these five fluffy chicks would tumble out of their hiding place and surround her, like little clockwork toys, bobbing about on the water.  Then she would turn and swim back out to the river, and they would vanish back into the shelter of the leaves as if by magic.  We were mesmerised.

It was a hot, lazy day, and we found a hot, lazy dog on a narrowboat.

Right on the river is the church where Shakespeare is buried; it had the most incredible nave and organ, and the wood carving was amazingly detailed.

The huge wooden door to the church has a tiny door set into it, with a 'sanctuary knocker'

Apparently, any fugitive could grab the ring and claim 37 days sanctuary within the church before facing trial.  I am sorely tempted to install one on my spare room for next time the family is driving me nuts.

Note to self: stock spare room with wine and chocolate.