Flying Cat - December 2006

The only Catflap of Doom I have known in my short and yet Wonderful Liff (quick
bracket for fpu to indulge in small James Stewart-induced swoon) is no more; it is an ex catflap; it has ceased to be. There is nothing to be sad about in this, though, for lo! Father Alex Christmas arrived last weekend in his trusty chariot, bearing New White Door in which he had cunningly fitted Brand New Catflap of Doom. And it has no broke bits. Not a one. Old Cf of D was, not to beat about the fuschia bush, knackered. Any catflap that had endured one-stone-Polly of fond memory, crashing through it in full flight from old intrudercat Black Panther, would need to have been crafted from cast iron and Clyde-built to endure unscathed. It wasn't and didn't and m'Marmalade Chum and I inherited a draughty rattling remnant which let in all manner of dossers in the nightime, some of whom had the nerve to perfume the lobby liberally. But now - INTRUDERS NO MORE; SPRAYERS NO MORE; DOSSERS NO MORE, for it boasts an undreamed of sophistication, in the shape of a slot-in shutter. It has to be said that m'chum M is struggling to come to terms with this nightly transformation, oft-times desperately trying to exit the flap with shutter in situ, and, try as I might, I cannot stifle a tiny titter or two. It almost goes without saying that I had the whole thing sussed in a trice. Massive brain. Can't help it. Finstown antecedents and all that. *smug mode*. (He's Northside, Birsay. say no more, say no more: nod's as good as a wink to a blind cat.) So, there we are - nice new doubleglazed white door; nice new Cf of D; working doorbell (initially a tad mystifying going *bing-bong* without warning) and, for the bipeds, a warmer walk to Red Bog in winter. It's a win-win situation one would think. But, no, what is this? "I miss my lovely red wooden door." Silly fpu. Single glazing; condensation; broken flap; strange fungal growths? Missed? I will never plumb the shallows of the bipedal brain, not if I live to a ripe old age.

Me, Flying Cat, in all my glory

m'Marmalade chum

Me and iPhoto are having a minor altercation and I'm not sure who's winning, but, with assistance, it may just be me by a whisker. But it's bloody hard work for a cat who is a pure child of nature and not at all wrapt by all this electronic gizmory. That could be somewhere on Mull. Or not. I don't care any more, as long as these photos end up on my blog. *sigh*

snow, March 2006

froggies doing what froggies do

what froggies did

green hairy thing

in the tree circle

alas fish and bones

berries for my friends

my favourite scratcing post
Phew! It's over. I can let my ammanuensis go back to her glass of sweet white vino, collapsed in front of some of Monty Python's Best Bits, braincells in rest mode. A merry new year and gawd bless us every one. *THUD*