In all the heaving about of long-forgotten boxes, I found, amongst other ancient vinyl LPs, these treasures, probably completely unplayable now after teenage years of primitive record players and dull needles:
Ah, Keith! How I loved you when I was sixteen!
For those who asked, the mouse hasn't exactly been found, but it has moved into the back kitchen. A very alert little tabby cat takes turns with Scooter to stand guard at this gap.
Meanwhile, I'm on mouse alert too: I spot them everywhere, out of the corner of my eye:
Millie is unimpressed.
Fake, she says. No quivering.
No squealing.
No fun.
Like Estorbo says: "Th".
4 comments:
You and Marie should get together and do Cats Who do Bronx Cheers International.
Seeing mice? Have you been on the catnip too?
When we're clearing out - the new hobby of the middle-aged! - we can part with almost anything except the vinyl. Bill Wyman lives in the next village and now he's no longer rolling those stones, is a keen metal detector. I looked out of our bedroom window one morning and saw an old man in a raincoat scanning the ground for treasures. You've guessed who it was.
Did you get Millie to tone in with the carpet or vice versa?
It seems that age improved Keith's teeth...
That first little mousie appears to be trying to escape by raising the window. Give him a hand, why dontcha?
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