Friday 17th August 2007

Coming home is great until you realise that the moles didn’t go on holiday at the same time as me and seem to have taken over the garden. I’m not sure if they have been using the pool whilst we were away but at least they couldn’t use the children’s pool toys, unless they found the key to where they are kept. They may have been playing tug with the rope I left outside, which is probably a worse thought, at least from my perspective.

The worst bit of coming home is to find that nobody thought to bring me a present back from holiday. Not even a dog biscuit. You would think after a week away without me at least one of them would have thought about me. Except of course for my mistress who was as pleased to see me as I was her. She did say she would have preferred a week away just the two of us and to be honest I think she meant it. She still hadn’t brought me a present but I forgave her instantly, as usual.

It turns out that ‘the kitten’ that has moved in with Matilda is to be called Tigger, unless it is called Monty. It isn’t often I start to feel sorry for a cat but I can’t help thinking that the way he is going he is going to have a bit of an identity crisis. I have long thought that cats have a tendency to be schizophrenic, one minute they pretend to be all soft and cuddly and the next they would have your eye out given the chance, what chance will little Monty / Tigger have? I don’t want to be around when he is old enough to realise how confused he is.


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