A Cat Called Merlot

Thursday 16th July 2020

There was a lack of activity in the gardens on Tuesday, so I popped in to see Alfred, who was looking through photos and reminiscing about his time during the war. He was playing a Dame Vera Lynn record on his battered player. It was a bit scratchy but the wistful look in his eyes said it all. He told me while he was eating his normal lamb chop lunch, how life was simpler then and people weren’t lonely. “It’s hard, Merlot,” he said, pointing his fork at me, “When everyone you grew up with is gone and all you have left are memories but we have to be grateful for small things.” Like tinned pilchards, I thought. 

Queenie and I were watching TV this afternoon, and she was having a good old rant about journalism and bias. I think I could do a good job of running the BBC – British Broadcasting Cat! Has a ring to it, don’t you think? I wouldn’t even have to change the logo so that’s an immediate cost saving. There’d need to be a few changes, of course: lots more fishing documentaries, Big Cat Diary would obviously be changed to Merlot’s Blog and we’d show classic films like Of Mice and Men. 

This week, my nemesis the car, apparently needed a new set of window wipers to keep it on the road.  I’d much prefer it if it stayed on the driveway, permanently. Queenie, who hates spending money on it, called the garage yesterday for a quote:-

Queenie “Hello, I need a set of new window wipers”

Garage “Of course. What’s the make of your car?”

She gives the required information.

Garage “That will be £39.99 plus vat and fitting…”

Queenie – “Do you have just the rubber and stainless steel version?”

Garage – (Pause) “I’m sorry what do you mean?”

Queenie – “Rather than the gold-plated-eyelashes-of-endangered-species version, fitted by an ordinary mortal, as opposed to a wiper specialist flown in from another galaxy?”

Garage – “That is the standard product. The endangered species range has been discontinued as we can’t get the parts and the space craft is in for a service.”

Touché!

Sheridan Thomas and his Brazilian partner Fernanda, live at number 29. He’s an abstract artist and she’s a poet. Their relationship is quite volatile but I suppose being artistic that’s only to be expected. Yesterday, from a few gardens down, I could hear them shouting at each other after which, he stomped off to his studio and did a very angry canvas with lots of black and red sloshes of paint, whilst she wrote a poem about a woman doing away with her husband and burying him in the garden. I thought that was quite impressive, as I don’t think an awful lot rhymes with “beneath the patio”. 

This morning I went down to see Lola, who was wearing a new bright pink diamanté collar. Personally, I felt it looked a bit trashy, like the feline equivalent of a vajazzle. I thought if I took her for a romantic walk through the shrubbery, we might be able to lose it on a twig but it ended badly with her moaning about getting her fur messed up. In silence I walked her home and went back to Queenie who is less high-maintenance…normally. 

If you are enjoying my blog, please share it with your cat-loving friends on Facebook and Twitter! Thank you, Merlot x