A CAT CALLED MERLOT

Thursday 24th June 2021

Marjorie and I went down to the beach on Saturday where there was a real party atmosphere. A few coaches had turned up from places called Yorkshire and Newcastle. It was quite difficult to understand what some of them were saying but Marjorie seemed to be able to translate as Judith, her housekeeper, had been watching ‘Our Yorkshire Farm’ series and a vintage box set called, ‘Boys From The Black Stuff’ on TV and she said she’d picked up a bit of the language. Walking past one of the hotels on the sea front, there was a bit of a commotion at the desk. Marjorie said a customer was complaining there wasn’t enough room to “swing a cat” in their bedroom. I mean, why would you want to do that? Unless of course it’s a Northern ritual and if so, I shall keep well out of their way. 

The cat-swingers were on the beach on Sunday, looking very pink from the sun. Marjorie said it was a well known fact they only get rain up North, so they make the most of any sunshine. As we walked past a group, someone said cheerfully, “See those belta cats hinny?” pointing at us and Marjorie said, “Quick! Run for your life.” So we did and only narrowly avoided being ‘swung’ in an hotel room. 

My faith in the human race wasn’t improved by a group of rather rough men working in the gardens in our road. The word on the cat block is that they aren’t very pleasant. I’ve listened to them talking while they have their lunch break and I’m concerned for the animals in the neighbourhood. One of the men bragged that he’d stolen a puppy from a front garden and managed to get “five hundred quid for it”. I know a large box of cat food is about twelve pounds and so, I figure that’s a lot of money. He also said, “There’s money to be made in nicking pets,” and the three of them agreed. I made a note to spread the word and keep well out of their way.

The arrogant fox and his wife who live in next door’s garden have bred four very badly behaved offspring who are busily running around my garden, digging up the lawn, like they own the place. I caught Queenie the other evening giving them some of my food which subsequently caused a row between the vixen and me, on my patio, as I tried to retrieve it. Queenie rushed out to break it up, so I’m hoping the brief altercation made my feelings clear and it will be the end of the Fox Food Bank!