Uneventful?

Nothing much happening here. The dog has been under the weather (rain, snow, sleet, sun, snow....), moping and smelling sour, hunched and yelpy to touch, but before I could decide that she should see the vet, she picked up again and is her bouncy little self, especially in her new double-thickness reversible coat that her devoted Sandra knitted. No more cat food leftovers for her though.

The young cats continue to demand and devour vast quantities of the more costly varieties of pet-grade junk meat and fish that the industry produces; reading reviews on the feeding of animals is the most confusing and anxiety-producing activity I know. They also sleep a great deal, heaped up together like hamsters, charging their batteries for episodes of hyperactive hooliganism, then eat and sleep some more. And then there are the litter boxes.....My household budget has shifted to cat litter and cat food; never mind me, I'll just live on lentils.

Old Kevin is almost affectionately great-uncle-ish with Millie; he wasn't suited to a single-cat life, and is doing well. And Millie?.... sigh....she has learned to jump onto the worktops. I fish her out of sinks, off the stove (first time sitting decoratively behind pans simmering on gas burners), scrambling into the fridge, wrecking the houseplants, investigating and helping wherever she ventures, and leaving debris and footprints everywhere. She has escaped into the street twice despite the extreme caution of visitors coming and going, once being locked out for over an hour in the cold and dark, but dashed indoors when I came out and called for her, my voice shaky with panic. Microchipping soon! Except that there are suggestions of microchip-induced lesions in cats with cancer...life was simpler in the days when you fed your cat pink stinky fishy Kit-e-Kat, hardly ever went to a vet, and thought that 10 was a ripe old age for your beloved, and unworrying, moggie. I know I'm giving my age away.

I have a new form of Repetitive Strain Injury: MHS. Mouse Hurler's Shoulder, acquired by endless games of throwing small toy mice up the stairs for two exciteable youngsters to retrieve/beat up/hide under furniture.

Today, as the snow falls and actually accumulates, I am making ice cream. Not an obvious choice for the time of year, but when a yearning for a good grown up coffee ice cream takes you, you gotta listen. Come and visit; thaw out, throw a mouse or two, have a bowl of ice cream, and be careful that a small grey-striped shadow doesn't slink out into the great outdoors as you leave.