And for other reasons...I can't relax.
Muttie keeps peering at me with an expectant expression on her auld pus (Scottish for 'old face').
What? I shriek in cat angst.
"Do something interesting!" she demands. "I have a column to write and I need stuff to blether on about. I haven't been out the house for two days now 'cos I'm stuck with all this freelance stuff so unfortunately for us both, you're my singular muse."
Did I sign up to this when I agreed to let her adopt me? I don't think so. I believe free Dreamies, a nice, fluffy, woolly blanket together with the bathroom window laid open whenever I needed away from her (regularly) were the main bargaining points.
I mean, I give her purrs, head butts, I sleep on the end of the bed with her every night and only the other day there I delivered half a sparrow for her lunch.What else must a cute kittie such as moi give out?
She looks towards poor old Paw for material too. She's considered writing about his obsession with the Observer Crossword ie they can't go out the house on Sunday morning until he's completed it.
Well, they tried it once, went to this really beautiful olde-worlde academic town of St Andrews, wandered around the university cloisters, viewed the ancient ruined Abbey, then popped to the upmarket student cafe for lunch. Muttie was bowled over by the atmosphere of the place. And what does Paw do? He whips out his newspaper, even before the waitress has appeared, and demands:
"What do you reckon 3 Across is?"
Let's just say Muttie's reply didn't quite fit in the required blanks....
Milt xx
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