Chick feels the wind beneath his wings . . .

Spain It’s seemed a bit odd today, even The Mutleys are out of sorts.  Son set off on school trip to Ribadesella in Spain at 6am yesterday.  Text arrived last night saying the place was beautiful, they’d had a great dinner and there was evening entertainment.  Spain2_2 Last night I kept thinking I ought to be collecting said Son from somewhere but the taxi sat, redundant, on the drive.

This morning, can you believe, I was awoken at some ungodly hour (well, daughter has finished GCSEs and husband had gone to work) by someone asking if Son wanted a lift to school or was he cycling?  Yes, indeed, judgment upon me for not being up and on parade, as usual . . .

. . . before you start, it was only 8.00am! 

The Mutleys know when it’s 3.45pm (how do they do that?) and were ready and waiting for the garage door to open and Son to park bike.  They both sat alert and in eager anticipation of the rough and tumble, followed by ball throwing that was due any minute . . . and they sat . . . and sat . . . and I tried to explain that Son was away.  Huge, confused eyes looked back at me.  (Yes, I know I could have done it, but it looked like rain!)  Gradually, they looked as though they were losing the will to live, both slumping down onto the floor, eyes looking up at me imploringly.  I turn my chair so I am facing the computer screen again, intensely aware of the mournful eyes burning into my back.

Experiment with animal telepathy while NOT maintaining eye contact.  Explain, again, Son away and I didn’t get usual hug and beaming smile either.  Think I’ve discovered some other dimension to communication when I feel a paw almost tapping me on the back . . . is it a major breakthrough?  Am I gifted?  Then, as the magic is stripped from the moment, I realise that the ball throwing usually involves a trip out into the garden, if you know what I mean, and it’s bloating of the bladder and not my canine communication that is creating movement behind me.

You haven’t met Ruff before.  He’s a red colourpoint Persian and now an old gent of 11Dsc00138.  He only came for the weekend when he and his sister were a few weeks old.  Dolly and Ruff were inseparable as litter mates but we were only having one!  Oh yeah, he’s still here 11 years on.  He’s the most loving animal.  Has huge feet the vet likens to a rabbit and purrs like a boiling kettle.  Now then, why mention Ruff?  He’s been wondering around all day, looking for Son, as has his cousin, Bertie.  Ruff likes to go on things, BertFunny_pic_of_birt  likes to go in things.  Here (although it’s not a terrific picture), is Bert on sentry duty in a Sainsbury’s basket that was leaning against a wall.  He’s definitely Son’s cat and equally confused by absence.  Our Bert’s now 6 and a seal point Persian with a pale pink meow!

These two are inseparable, although there was much spitting and rejection when Bert first arrived.  You see, the beautiful Dolly (a tortoiseshell seal point Persian) was killed by a dog at the back of our garden.  The vet said the dog was a trained killer and we should report the incident to the Police.  It is not an offence for a dog to kill a cat but it is very rare because Nature has built safeguards into the cat’s defence mechanisms.  Dogs will run from hissing, spitting cats.  However, it is an offence to train a dog to kill.  Anyway, enough of that heartbreaking stuff.  Ruff was distraught so we had another kitten and now they spend all their time together.  (As I write, Ruff is bleating for his supper biscuits, he’s such a creature of habit.)

Chick_2 Nothing’s happening on time today for our animals and they ain’t amused, just confused!  Better go and feed Ruff and explain to Susie and Alf why there won’t be a goodnight stroke and a biscuit from their boy tonight or a bear hug for me!  I think it’s beach games tomorrow on the Spanish school trip.  Hope he remembers the sun cream, being fair skinned.  Oh get a grip, woman, you gotta let your chicks fly . . .

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