a damp day

There has just been a stampede of cats through the cat door, suggesting that it must finally be raining.  It has been threatening to rain all day, when it hasn't been spitting, not the sort of weather to make you want to pile out into the garden with all your tools.  The Systems Administrator tried to sit outside, but got drizzled on.

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There has been a hiatus since I wrote the first paragraph, because Mr Fluffy decided to jump on to the arm of the sofa beside me without noticing the open Gardens Illustrated magazine lying there. He slid to a halt and sat in the rumpled pages looking confused.  I lifted him to the other end of the sofa, and tidied the magazine out of the way, whereupon Mr Fluffy headed back across my keyboard to where he had been sitting before, adding a few letters from the top row to the end of paragraph one en route.

Then he lay on his back in my lap for a good quarter of an hour while I tried to get the remains of a burdock seedhead out of the fur on his tummy.  Burdock is a fine and statuesque plant, in its grand, wild and weedy way, but the seeds are a menace when you have a long haired cat.  Mr Fluffy had managed to get about half of this seedhead out by himself since I noticed it stuck there yesterday evening, but the remaining part was well and truly embedded in his coat.  He turns out to be remarkably happy about having the fur on his stomach pulled in the name of grooming, more obliging than any previous cat, and lay there purring loudly although I'd have thought I was pulling the hair a lot.  The tangle was so close to the soft skin of his tummy that there was no way we could risk using scissors, so it was coming out by his teeth or my fingers.  By the time he'd had enough I'd got one lump out, and loosened the second.  I should not allow burdock in the garden.  I wonder which part of the plant you make dandelion and burdock out of?

It was only then that I noticed he had expanded the page I was using to fill the whole screen and I'd lost the tabs and toolbar.  I couldn't work out which function key he had trodden on, and ended up forcing a restart by the brutal expedient of holding the on button down for several seconds until the laptop switched off.  Maybe in the modern world, The cat erased my project can replace The dog ate my homework as an excuse.

Now Mr Fluffy is lying on the arm of the sofa looking languid, while Our Ginger is sleeping on my foot.  Mr Fidget and Mr Cool are curled up on the dining table.  A happy family scene.  It was thundering a minute ago.  I shall have to disturb Our Ginger presently to go and shut the chickens, or ask the Systems Administrator to do it, pleading that I am not wearing outdoor shoes and have in any case got the cat on my foot.