It's too hot for the short indignant tabby. I walked into her as she lurked in the comparative cool and dark of the upstairs corridor, and the Systems Administrator stumbled over her in the bathroom. This morning she was lying flat in the downstairs loo, looking so far out of it that I wondered whether today was the day she was going to the great hunting ground in the sky (though I hope for her sake it is concrete. The short indignant tabby never hunted anything in her life, and much prefers man-made materials to all that damp and unhygienic grass).
I needed to vacuum the floor, and it seemed unkind to wake her by switching the machine on within inches of her ear, when she hates vacuum cleaners, so I woke her gently and tickled her head. She purred, then went straight back to sleep while I cleaned the hall, and remained there until I had to wake her again because I needed the clean the loo. Normally she would not deign to remain in the house with the vacuum cleaner running, and I was quite worried about her, my concern mingling with a sort of grotesque social anxiety as a friend was coming round for tea, and I had visions of them wanting to use the loo and finding a dead cat on the floor. But by the evening as the day cooled the short indignant tabby revived, ate some supper, and went and sat outside in the breeze on the gravel, shouting occasionally.
My friend had expressed a desire to see the garden. I am always very cautious about inflicting it on people who are not as keen as I am, which is most people, and she cheerfully admits that she is not a gardener. However (and yah boo sucks to Michael Gove), she sounded as though she liked it, and as I tried to see it through her eyes I liked it too. I can never look on it with an entirely innocent eye, because my mind is always registering the jobs that need doing, weeds that need pulling out and stems that need pruning, patches of things that have got too large and are crowding out their neighbours, and gaps where a sculpture of some sort is called for. I know enough not to keep apologising as I go round, but I'm making mental notes for later. Today's tour revealed some patches in the long bed in the front garden that have collapsed with drought, and once my guest had left I was out there for half an hour giving emergency first aid with the hose, pending a proper soaking tomorrow.
The Systems Administrator summoned me to see a strange bees nest in the workshop. Hanging from the ceiling, cunningly hidden behind a piece of corrugated plastic that had been tucked into the rafters for safe keeping, was a structure that looked like an extremely large inverted meringue. Insects roughly the size and shape of honey bees were going in and out through holes in the sides. I gave my considered inexpert view that they were not bees, but some sort of wasp. Bumble bee nests consist of messy heaps of little wax cups, and this papier mache like structure stuck to the roof said wasp to me. They must have been there for some time to get the nest to that size. The SA said that the insects had not been a nuisance so far, merely flying into him if he stood in the door. If they aren't aggressive they could just be allowed to stay. I'm hosting a beekeepers committee meeting next week, so maybe somebody will be able to tell us what the creatures are. They looked smaller and less yellow than the wasps that make a nuisance of themselves at picnics, but the light wasn't great and we couldn't really see. Maybe in the clear light of day they'll turn out to be your common or garden wasp, in which case they'll have to go before they turn nasty later in the season.
A self sown verbascum by the front door is looking more and more moth eaten (literally), as numerous mullein moth caterpillars chew their way through the leaves. What goes in at the front end comes out at the back as black frass. I would not have chosen to grow a four foot mullein full of holes and caterpillar crap right next to the ornamental pots in front of the house, but feel it would be too mean to remove it now the caterpillars have taken up residence. They are wildlife, after all. They are green and stripy and rather handsome. A friend tells me that the adult moths are brown and extremely dull.
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