I saw Black and White Alsatian Killer Cat this morning for the first time in ages, slinking across from the turning circle towards the patio. He gave no indication that he'd seen me, and looked as disreputable as ever, and possibly a trifle thinner. I was pleased to see him, as he's not been round for so long that we were beginning to wonder if he was still alive. He is not a pleasant cat, but I'm used to having him around, and feel that any garden with Killer Cat hanging about in it becomes several degrees less attractive to the bunnies at a stroke. I don't know whether, when he's not with us, he goes off on tour around other local gardens, or if he goes home. He does nominally belong to one of the neighbours, though I don't think they like each other.
That was after I'd spent quite a long time picking shards of picture glass off the kitchen floor. I came downstairs to find the lithograph of a ginger cat on a mat, that normally lives next to the larder above the coffee machine, lying on the floor, its glass smashed. My initial reaction was to blame the cats, since they have been responsible for a long litany of broken things over the years. My rooster mug, smashed when a chase ran over the draining board, an odd Staffordshire china dog on the cloakroom window sill, smashed when a cat tried to climb on to the sill (or out of the window), a hand thrown pottery dish on the dining room table, smashed when they somehow managed to sweep it from the middle of the table to the floor, the turned burr oak bowl that replaced it and went the same way. But then I reasoned that the cats really couldn't have got at the wall, and they are getting too old for that sort of lark anyway. I wondered vaguely if there had been another small earthquake, then saw that the string was in two parts, having rotted through.
Thinking about it I should have checked the string before now, since I've had the picture for about thirty years, and it has hung on the same piece of cotton string for all that time. Fortunately the artwork itself was undamaged, so I have added getting the lithograph reframed to my list of things to do. The original frame wasn't very smart, a screw together aluminium job, and the picture wasn't mounted. The framer in the art shop at Little Clacton could make a better job of it than that. I could get the pair of Soviet posters I gave the Systems Administrator for Christmas framed at the same time while I'm at it. One proclaims that we will achieve the Five Year Plan in four years, and I must admit I can't remember what the other one means, since they are both in Russian. If I can find space for them in the cloakroom they can set up a cold war dialogue with the Dig For Victory poster over the loo. And I should probably check the string on the other pictures, and if any are on ordinary cotton kitchen string swap it for synthetic.
Later on we let the hens out for a run for the first time since losing one. They do enjoy coming out so much, it seems too harsh to keep them locked up for ever for their own safety. They amused themselves in the gravel and the bottom of the eleagnus hedge for quite a long time, but then came down to the back garden where I was poised to meet them. For a moment all four flocked together beautifully, and I thought that those chickens had indeed organised themselves, but then the flock split apart, as some but not all four determined on a visit right down to the ditch bed, and as they went back up the slope I lost track of how many were still in the back garden. How many hens went through to the front drive? Was it three or was it four? Am I feeling lucky? After wandering about in circles for a bit the SA confirmed that all four were now poking about in the front. I can't think of any way of conveying to them that if only they would flock better they could come out more.
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