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16 October 2014

Flying Cat - July 2006

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Sweet Kitty

Well, here we are and where are we. Back out of Big Cage for the third time this far! A much more enjoyable experience than previous ones, due to lack of annoying, attention-grabbing B&W, and even BIg Cage Bosslady noticed what a lovely frecky purry thing I had become. If only the same fate would befall Dopplecat and Thylvethter, for we are both heartily sick of their unwanted attentions in our Rolling Acres. Only moments ago the Marmalade One confronted the former in Willow Wand Wood and fpu rushed out clutching a clothes pole (for verily the gloves are off now) with which to tickle his tail.....and any other bits. But we won't go into that again for it does seem to upset mjc and I don't like upsetting my fanbase.
Strange Things of a plantly nature are appearing in the Garden of Earthy Delights - a massive umbellifer, 7 foot if 'tis an inch b'gum and old harry (whoever he is) is dwarfing Hoy Rowan (fpu WILL buy nameless plants at carbooters) and quite unexceptionable true valerian takes on Triffid-like proportions in Woven Willow Bed. That's what you get when you plant wildflowers in good black earth! There is a goodly quantity of white foxgloves this year, which glow palely in the gloaming, joined by rosa alba and a white geranium, both of which spread vigourously. We felines are able to traverse this rampant jungle with ease, but the humans have to keep hacking it back with shears and electric hedge-trimmers in order to pass through. Poor things. Four legs good, two legs bad.
I am allowing one of the parental units to do one post about their helliday in Skye, as I wasn't there.
Posted on Flying Cat at 19:50

Island Hospitality

Flying Cat is most kindly allowing me this opporchancity to write a bit about 'What We Did in Our Holidays.'
I booked a week in a *** B&B on Skye months ago, arranging to arrive between 3 and 5pm and to ring if wildly different. So, we, mpu, fpu and afpu (79+) turned up outside said establishment at 4:20, and finding no-one there, went for a walk to fill in the time before our latest ETA at 5. Arrived back - no-one there. Sat in the car until 5:15 (being reasonably aware of 'island time') and decided to 'phone landlady's number in case it had been re-routed. It had, and mother of L.L. answered, saying, as we hadn't 'phoned, her daughter had 'popped out to the shops' - I was not impressed, but was polite. Quarter of an hour later, a woman drove up to the house (unkempt garden, peeling windowframes) who we think was M of L.L. and said her daughter had gone to the vet (possibly for a hospitality transplant), to which I replied that we were not too happy and perhaps we could see the rooms before committing ourselves, and that the least we expected was an apology, considering 5pm was our latest ETA. Even a note in the open porch would have been nice. Mpu says I was 'icily polite', but not rude. M of L.L. got a bit annoyed and said. 'If that's your attitude perhaps you should find somewhere else', I consulted with les autres and we said, 'If that's yours, we will.'
A wonderful woman, at the end of a long hard day in the Portree TIC, found us one night in Broadford at 'Seaview' with the equally wonderful Paul and MIchelle Sidgwick, who, it turned out, had just sold the business and didn't really want to take any more bookings that day, as they were off house-hunting in two days time. Mr S. called around 20 other B&Bs to get us the next night, for which they were fully booked, and then left us in the capable hands of their cleaning lady while they left the island to house-hunt. So, instead of leaving Skye and spending our tourist pounds elsewhere, we stayed and had a lovely lovely holiday.
Now for the sad bit, which only reinforces my Glaswegian predjuces about the isles of the West - at least 95% of the restaurateurs, café owners and artists whose studios we visited, were incomers, including our absent hosts in Broadford, and the one who really let the side down was a Skyeach - I've spent most of my life trying not to think that those with get-up-and-go have got up and went, but Mrs Grumpy in Portree let the side down badly. Official complaint is winging its way to the Tourist Board. Otherwise, brilliant island, stunning to look at and many very professional and talented artists and craftspeople some of whose work we bought, and which will remind us of a special place.
Posted on Flying Cat at 20:30

Yehoodie MacRoodie and the Dole-bludgers.

Four wee craws sat upon a roof, sat upon a roof, sat upon a roof, Four wee craws sat upon a roof, on a hot and sunny morning. And a noisy bunch they were too. No finesse! Mr&Mrs Yehoodie MacRoodie produced two fine brats this year and spent a great deal of time stuffing food into their ever-open beaks. What a racket. A cat of delicate sensitivities could hardly hear himself think for all the caw-caw-cawing that went on. During particularly frantic feeding sessions the noise went something like this - "Caaw, caaw ca-glug-aw." If only I could have stuffed one of mpu's used socks down those gaping maws, what pleasure it would have given little me. My sojourns up on the Roof of Confrontation merely moved the Family MacRoodie onto Next Door Southwest's ridge tiles, where they carried on their noisy, flapsy, chaotic lifestyle. As if that wasn't enough, extended families of sparrows flock around the birdfeeding station and scatter seed around like there was no tomorrow; I try to explain to the bipeds that it would be better for these scroungers if their benefits were stopped and they were made to stand on their own claws, but they just keep filling up the feeders and sweeping up the mess. Sometimes it's hard living in a Champagne Socialist enclave. Power to the Pusscats! Dahn wiv Proles on Poles!
Posted on Flying Cat at 23:25

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