Author: paula.napier

Thursday 17th December 2020

Queenie purchased a Christmas tree-with-a-root on Saturday. Her plan was to plant it in the back garden, after Christmas. It was bigger than last year and Marcus from Number 18 helped her indoors with it, groaning at the weight, from behind his mask. When it was unwrapped, It looked like a good climbing tree, with nice, evenly spaced branches. Once in situ, she spent a couple of hours hanging things off it with one hand, while having a conversation with her friend Michelle while holding her mobile, with the other. Marjorie and I watched from the back of the armchair and agreed if Queenie had been concentrating harder, the tree could have looked better. So, when she went out for a walk with an ‘internet friend’ who was a definite contender post-lockdown, as he presented as ‘sane, solvent, smart and single’, we took all the baubles off the tree to give her a second run at decorating it properly, when she got home. When she arrived back, in a bad mood, to find all the decorations scattered around the flat and the tree at a jaunty angle, she wasn’t best pleased so we made a swift exit through the cat flap and went to see Oliver and Amelia at Number 36. 

As it happened, they were busy making their own decorations under the guidance of their mother, Saffron. Their ‘tree’ was fashioned from a town ‘litter pick’ which according to Saffron, would concentrate the mind about waste, whenever the family looked at it. Dad, Luke went ‘for a run’ to escape the craft morning and tuck into a crafty Full English breakfast, fashioned from saturated fats, at a backstreet cafe, where he was unlikely to be recognised. Marjorie and I were allowed to sit at the table and watch the painting of plastic bottles and fixing of reclaimed fishing net to make baubles from discarded Special Brew cans and empty cigarette packets. As our input was not required, we departed and went to share Alfred’s lunch at Number 16. 

Earlier in the week, Jeff called Saffron and enlisted Oliver and Amelia to help with the forthcoming TARTS (The Avenue Residents’ Theatre Society) performance in the garden at The Last Gasp Residential Home. He thought if he had a couple of decoy children dressed as elves, ‘waving sweetly’ to the elderly residents, it might distract from the truly atrocious singing from the handful of tone-deaf choir members. Perhaps predictably, the plan didn’t work. On Tuesday the six performed Silent Night to the sound of an elderly man shouting at a nurse that elves were in the garden stealing from the shed. This was accompanied by a lady resident relentlessly getting out of her seat, attempting to close the patio windows to the residents’ lounge while complaining the racket outside was stopping her watching Eastenders.

On Sunday, Judith came home from hospital. Wendy (Number 27) did a shop for her and Martha, Hector’s wife cooked a Caribbean version of casserole. Marjorie and I felt sad we wouldn’t be living together any more but were comforted in the knowledge that we could see each other whenever we wanted. Judith and Queenie agreed both cat flaps would be programmed to allow us to go in and out of our respective houses so we could hang out together. I was therefore shoved through Marjorie’s cat flap to allow it to read my ‘chip’. I learned to tolerate this indignity when I first arrived at Queenie’s. I’d used cat flaps before I ended up homeless but I’ve never really liked them. I prefer to have doors opened for me when I ask and to this end, I did put ‘Full-time Commissionaire’ on my Christmas list. When Judith saw Marjorie, she cried with joy which made me feel emotional and suddenly a bit anxious how I’d be if Queenie wasn’t around, so I turned nonchalantly away and helped myself to a festive biscuit from Marjorie’s food bowl. 

Thank you so much for reading my diary. Have a lovely, safe Christmas and I hope you’ll visit me again in the New Year! Love Merlot xx

Thursday 10th December 2020

Officer Dribble, the big black and white, toothless cat from next door and I have reached an uneasy truce over the past couple of years. The agreement is, that if we want to cross each other’s garden we submit a cat-lick-ation form and await approval. Acceptance is indicated by the wave of a paw. In response we cross quickly and don’t linger too freely enjoy the abundance of scents in our respective domains. On Monday, however, he breached protocol, stared through my window, pointing at Marjorie, dribbling profusely and winking lasciviously before sitting, belligerently, in the middle of my lawn! Under extreme provocation I sprinted into the kitchen, planning to fly out through the cat flap to give him a piece of my mind. Marjorie would, I’m sure, have been very impressed at my display of machismo but the batteries had gone flat and I just ended up with a headache as I hit the shut flap with a heck of a bang! Meanwhile, old O.D. just sat sniggering from the safety of my patio.  

Maria Bianchi is learning to drive. On Friday, Marjorie and I were on our way to town to drool at the smells outside Stan’s Wet Fish Shop, when we heard a bit of a commotion from the direction of the zebra crossing. It turned out to be Maria and her instructor in a red Fiat 500, sporting “L” plates. It appeared a young man had been halfway across the crossing, when Maria screeched to an emergency stop, hand on horn and head out of the window, tapping her head to signify madness and yelling at him to get out of the road as wearing black and white on a zebra crossing was ‘pazzo’ and what was he thinking? Her instructor, checking his neck for whiplash, finally pulled on the hand-break and tried, unsuccessfully to reason with her from behind his mask until, finally losing his cool, he attempted to prise her fingers from the horn. I suppose the pedestrian was lucky as he avoided the water-pistol treatment that I get, if I get caught on her flower bed.

The talk this week on the news is all about vaccination. There seems to be a lot of fuss going on about  how to get the elderly COVID-vaccinated in their care homes. Why can’t they apply the same tactics as they do with cats –  just ambush them whilst they are having a nice, relaxed breakfast, crate them up so they can’t escape and drop them at the doctors? Before they knew it, they’d be back in their chairs, enjoying a Fondant Fancy with a cup of tea while watching Pointless.

On Monday, Gideon let Marjorie and I have a look round Jonah, his Eco-Pod. It’s very cozy but I felt a bit odd sitting in the stomach of a fish. Normally it’s the other way round…

Thursday 3rd December

On Tuesday evening, I returned, exhausted as usual, from my daily visit to see Marjorie, to find Queenie on the telephone to the man from the Cattery. To cut a very long story short, he thought he’d recognised me and phoned to ask if I’d been disappearing every day for several hours. Queenie confirmed I had and she’d wondered what I’d been up to. Things looked as though they were about to get tricky but he went on to tell her how I’d been sitting outside Marjorie’s pen, in all weather and how she seemed a much happier cat when I was around. The rest of the time she refused point blank, to eat or drink. By the time the call had ended, Queenie had that thoughtful look on her face, that generally meant something was about to happen. The next thing I knew, she was on the phone to the hospital to see how Judith was getting on. Apparently, she knew the ward Sister and Queenie asked her to ask Judith if she would like her to bring Marjorie home to stay with us, until she was well enough to leave hospital. It turned out she was ‘over the moon’ and I did a race around the flat and a summersault with joy.  Queenie looked at me and said with a twinkle in her eye, “Right Merlot, your girlfriend is coming to stay but I want you to behave yourselves AND you can both lay off the cat nip, right?” To say thank you, I jumped on her lap and head-butted her, purring loudly, until she pushed me away, laughing. 

Meanwhile, back in The Avenue, the on-line rehearsals for the COVID Christmas choir concert for the residents of The Last Gasp Rest Home, were not going quite to Jeff’s plan. While Mrs Waters from Number 21 was a perfect Soprano, the rest of the recruits could barely sing a note in tune. Unfortunately, they believed they had perfect pitch and ploughed on, enthusiastically performing a version of Silent Night, that was barely recognisable. Carol, Jeff’s wife, suggested it wouldn’t matter very much as the residents could just turn off their hearing aids or turn up the TV and in any case, it was the community gesture that was important. 

And speaking of community; I noticed Gideon Longfellow had padlocked his new sleeping pod “Jonah” to the park railings on double yellow lines. In response, two over-zealous traffic wardens had ticketed him, which caused uproar in The Avenue. One by one, the neighbours gathered in a socially distanced, masked stand-off, worthy I might say of the best of Westerns, until the wardens hastily withdrew the ticket and turned and rode (I mean walked, with attitude), back towards town. 

On Wednesday afternoon, Marjorie arrived, looking very regal in her cat carrier. British Blues have great presence and she is no exception. When she saw me, she let out a big meow and her purrs could surely be heard in the next town. I brought her up to date with events and we both ate a nice meal and settled down in front of the fire. Marjorie said she was worried that when she was taken away, I’d find someone else but I reassured her I’m completely monoga-mouse. It was as they say, ‘A very happy ending’, especially as I overheard Queenie telling Marcus from Number 18, that Judith was responding well to the COVID treatment and was expected to be home within a week. As I gazed at Marjorie by the light of the fire, I had a feeling the next chapter of our lives was going to be quite eventful… 

Thursday 26th November 2020 

It’s been quite a week. When Marjorie was abducted by strangers and whiskered off to the cattery, I decided there was nothing for it but to go and visit her. I had a vague idea of where the place was, as I’d been incarcerated there myself, until I was pretty much expelled for endless howling. Whilst I had a dread of the place, Marjorie was my priority and so I set off after breakfast on Saturday. After what seemed like an endless journey, that had me crossing a couple of very busy roads and a river, I thought I recognised the house and the outbuildings, in the distance. Tired, I pushed on and to my relief found the row of pens, in the garden. 

The place looked quite deserted and for a moment, a feeling of desperation welled up inside me as I assumed I’d got it all wrong. Then, I saw a movement in the pen nearest the house. Heart racing, I ran down the path and spotted Marjorie, huddled at the top of the sleeping platform, looking miserably out at the fish pond. She seemed very pleased to see me. Whilst I couldn’t get into the pen, I made myself comfortable on the damp patch of grass outside and we talked and talked through the little squares in the iron fencing, until we both fell asleep. I didn’t hear the man approach until he was standing next to me, hands on hips, looking down. He asked me, quite gently what I was doing there but recognising him as one of the guards, I scampered off with all the energy I could muster and hid under a bush until he’d gone. 

By the time I got home, it was dark. Since it had been raining hard, my coat was soaking wet. Queenie, with a puzzled look on her face, patted me dry with a towel, inquisitive as to where I’d been all day. Once she’d fed me, she lit the log burner. The next thing I knew, it was morning and quite revived, I set off once again, determined to keep Marjorie’s spirits up. 

The day was warmer and the sky clear. My judgement on traffic wasn’t quite as good as the previous day as the road was busier and I had to make a run for it between cars. There was the sound of screeching brakes as a vehicle swerved and missed me by a whisker. Feeling a little weak, the nine lives I was born with moved down another one, to five. 

With all the rain during the night, the river level had risen and the branch I’d used to cross the day before, was half submerged. Staring into the black, fast-moving water, I judged that if I could just get to the bit where the branch had got swallowed up, with a good jump, I could reach the bank on the other side. I inched along trying to keep my balance as the branch bobbed up and down disturbingly under my weight. Above me a bird shook its head and put its wing over its eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life as I had no idea whether cats could swim but I reassured myself it couldn’t be that difficult if dogs could do it. When I reached the end of the branch, the river bank on the other side seemed a lot further away but it was too late to go back and I had to get to Marjorie. Taking a deep breath I jumped. As I left the branch, I realised I would be short of the bank by a good cat-length and I hit the freezing water. Thrashing around in panic below the surface, I re-emerged for just enough time to take a breath and went under again, positive I was about to die. The third time I surfaced, I somehow managed to hook one paw round the limb of a willow as I sailed past and clung to it against the current, until I could breathe. Bit by bit, I pulled myself up and finally hauled my body onto the slippery bank, where I collapsed and coughed up lots of river water. Four lives, I thought as I finally got my breath back and decided this being ‘in love’ thing was really quite an ordeal. 

Thursday 19th November 2020

On Saturday I took my new love Marjorie on safari to the park at the end of the road. Despite the awful weather, we found a rather nice, dry place in a clump of bushes and from our hide, spotted several birds, a rather large rat and a demented squirrel. I think we would both admit things are going pretty well for us and we are much better suited than Lola and I ever were. We’ve both talked about past relationships as we think it’s important to get things out in the open. Neither of us are the jealous type but I did have a bit of a wobble when she told me about the big ginger tom she was very attached to, a couple of years ago. I recovered when she told me his name was ‘Vernon’. I mean, it’s impossible to feel threatened by a cat with a name like that, isn’t it? After lots of grooming of fur in the shrubbery, we decamped to Marjorie’s house, which is in the next road to mine. She shares her home with Judith, a rather fussy woman of a certain age, with a fondness for cross-stitch and on-line bingo and a tendency to bore her neighbours into a coma, should she catch them. “It’s amazing,” she told Marjorie, “how everyone is fitness mad these days. The people next door seem to sprint to their car whenever I see them!” Judith’s only relatives live in Sydney but what with the time difference and excuse of terrible internet connection, she has little contact. She is however very kind to Marjorie and it was therefore a shock when we found an ambulance outside the house with Judith strapped to a stretcher, her face partly obscured by an oxygen mask, clutching her large handbag to her chest. It was late when I got home, having stayed with Marjorie until she settled. When I finally got through the cat flap, I found Queenie in bed, reading a book, so I jumped up and head butted her until she put her arm around me and we both fell asleep. 

On Sunday morning, I went back to see how Marjorie was, only to find her in a cat-carrier, being loaded into a car by a strange man and woman. Very worried I made my way home and found Queenie chatting to Hector in his front garden. He was telling her that Judith had been rushed into hospital with breathing difficulties due to COVID and her cat was being taken to the cattery until she was better. At least I think that was what was said. It was difficult to hear as Kiki, Hector’s adopted parrot was squawking, “I want half the dog and the microwave!” For the rest of the day, I stayed at home, feeling powerless.

Without Marjorie, I spent the last few days watching TV. I saw on the news that the British Prime Minister, ‘bursting with antibodies’ (not a good image), had gone into self quarantine again, as he’d been in contact with someone with COVID. He appeared overly enthusiastic about it, if you ask me. Perhaps it’s a way to dodge the Scottish First Minister…

Thursday 12th November 2020

On Saturday, despite lockdown, Gary the builder unveiled Gideon’s “Eco Night Pod”.  Everyone from The Avenue, stood at the end of their driveways, in anticipation. At 12.00 noon, soon to be evicted from the folly in the park, Gideon arrived. He limped down the middle of the road; a giant of a man with twinkling eyes, staring shyly down at his feet. Gary finally came out of his workshop, towing the community-sponsored pod behind him. On the front, he’d painted the face of a whale and down the side of its ultra lightweight body, he’d written “Jonah”. All the residents whistled and clapped as Gideon, overwhelmed, hung his head and wiped his eyes. When we could see the full extent of the pod, it did indeed look like a long, rather fat fish, on bicycle wheels, with a peg fold-away stand at one end, solar panels on the top that resembled a fin and two small portholes either side that looked like ‘eyes’. Inside, was Carol’s book-themed mattress and matching curtains at the windows. While Gideon couldn’t stand up in it, he would, Gary pointed out, be able to sit up and read at night, by the light he’d fitted and keep warm from the heating elements he’d ingeniously incorporated into the shell. Finally, he handed Gideon a thick padlock that would enable him to secure the Pod to lamp-posts or railings. Gideon was sobbing with joy by the end of it and there were few dry eyes in the rest of the road, either. Under normal circumstances, there would doubtless have been humans clinging together all over the place in what they call ‘group hugs’ but due to COVID, I’m pleased to say there was a level of decorum maintained. Queenie, for her part, had to make a quick dash indoors as her mascara had run making her look, according to Marcus, like a member of the 1970’s band, Kiss. 

Lydia, Queenie’s mother has booked her wedding to Suki and she called Queenie on Saturday to ask her to giver her away. Queenie told her brother, Stephen that under normal circumstances she’d be delighted to palm responsibility for their mother onto someone else (yet again). However, she just didn’t think a tick on a bucket list over a macaroni cheese (however well executed) was the best foundation for married life. Stephen wondered if Lydia was going into early dementia to which Queenie replied she’d always been bonkers and age had nothing to do with it. Lydia told Queenie that they had decided to go for a pagan wedding in early January, in case Covid restrictions are still in place, as they can have the ceremony in the forest and pretend the guests are “aimless Ramblers”.

I’ve been seeing quite a bit of Marjorie this week. She’s a very intelligent cat and we can converse on many levels. Yesterday we had a long discussion on fishing quotas. As far as the sea is concerned, I’m pleased to say she’s completely on my wave length!

Thursday 5th November 2020

Halloween proved to be exciting for all the wrong reasons. Jeff from Number 29 organised a few festivities for the children but due to COVID, Trick or Treat had to be modified, this year as children weren’t allowed to knock on doors. However, householders in The Avenue were  encouraged to dress up as witches and wizards and to carve out pumpkins and light them up, in their driveways. Sanitised sweets were handed out at the end of the road by a witch dressed in Personal Protective Equipment. Builder Gary, went extreme and decided to dress as a ghoul and run round his front garden, revving his chainsaw as Halloween was “all about scaring kids”. It worked, as Oliver and Emilia from Number 36 have suffered nightmares ever since. Mrs Waters from Number 21 appeared in her doorway in a purple Basque, fishnet stockings, long black wig and Devil horns. She appeared to be doing some kind of simulated pole-dance on the doorframe to the sound of “Come on Baby Light My Fire”. Saffron had to drag Luke away, arguing it was definitely NOT “Quite artistic, really!” and Matt from Number 20 told Liam from Number 33, with a grin, he wouldn’t  mind popping into her house for a treat. Queenie on the other hand, playing it low-key, told Marcus from Number 18 she’d taken a look in the mirror and decided to stay in, lest she was abducted and recruited to a coven.

What’s in a name? This week in politics, Prime Minister, Boris de Pfeffel Johnson finally appeared and announced a further national lockdown on Saturday and caused a ker-pfeffel, while Sir Keir Rodney Starmer allegedly wanted to know if he could continue to sell second-hand Labour party memberships on his  stall in Peckham… Maybe that was just fake news?

Queenie had her friend Michelle round for dinner on Wednesday, pre-lockdown. They tend to laugh hysterically at everything once they’ve had wine and I don’t understand why? For instance, Queenie regaled Michelle with the story of her returning a dress she’d bought from a local shop:

Queenie to young male assistant: “Hi I need to return this as it’s the wrong size. Do you have it in X?”

Young Assistant – Staring at his mobile phone.

Queenie bobbing from side to side waving, trying to attract attention: “Hello?”

Young Assistant glances at up at her and sighs.

Queenie, with a broad (no doubt dangerous) smile: “Did you hear me?”

Young Assistant: “Yeah.”

Queenie (brightly):  “Great! Well?”

Young Assistant: “Well what?”

Queenie leans forward and peers at his name badge: “Okay Darren! Are you a student?” (feigning interest)

Young Assistant yawns: “Yeah”

Queenie: “Studying, let me guess…Communication?”

Young Assistant: “Nope. Geography.”

Queenie: “Lovely! In that case, you should be able to draw on your skills and direct me to the Store Manager!”

Uncontrolled laughter and the sound of more wine being poured…

Today is firework night so I’m going to make sure I’m home before it gets dark and take refuge on Queenie’s lap. I wish humans understood how much how fireworks frighten animals but at least, with lockdown, there won’t be huge, organised displays that make it feel as though the Town is under attack. Hoorah for Mr Piffle! I mean de Pfeffel…

Thursday 29th October 2020

Within the first two days of putting it on a crowdfunding website, Saffron reported they had raised nearly £500 for Gideon’s Eco Pod. There’s been a lot of activity too, during the evenings, in Gary’s garden workshop and yesterday, he told residents of The Avenue to get ready for next week’s unveiling. I had a peek through the window and the pod, which is being constructed from light-weight, reclaimed wood is really taking shape. Carol from Number 29, has been busy making a foam mattress that she’s covered in a bright fabric, depicting Gideon’s great love of books. She’s also going to make a matching curtain for the small window. Alfred, keen to help, donated a tin of yacht varnish, he’d found in his shed, whilst Marcus managed to source two small solar panels at a very good price. By last Friday, Queenie was dancing round the living room with joy at the way the residents of The Avenue are pulling together. I had to admit, even for a cat, it’s touching!

Meanwhile Carol’s husband, Jeff  had a less than enthusiastic response to his appeal to members of TARTS (The Avenue Residents’ Theatre Society) to join Zoom rehearsals for a socially distanced carol concert at the local Care Home “The Last Gasp”. The home is also known as “The Departure Lounge” partly for their notoriously bad food, served on plastic trays but also because the residents’ communal area looks like an Easy Jet departure gate. Only Mrs Waters, Sheridan and Elsie (Number 30), joined Zoom to sing ‘Once In Royal David’s City’. As both Sheridan and Elsie are tone deaf, it sounded from the top of the garage in Jeff’s garden, as though cats were being systematically slaughtered. By the end of the rehearsal, Jeff, hovering on the brink of a bout of depression told Carol that it was a blessing when the link finally went down as listening to them would surely drive the residents to earlier graves.  

On Saturday, I have a date with a queen I’ve been chatting to on YOWL! App. She’s just moved into the next road and her name is…Marjorie. She’s a British Blue, a breed to which I’m rather partial. If her profile picture is to be believed, she’s got a shiny light grey coat, amber eyes and is rather beautiful. I have high hopes but I’m wary about getting into another relationship since Lola let me down so badly. Still, I think “Merlot & Marjorie” has rather a classy ring to it. Lets face it, in the 1970’s it wouldn’t have looked out of place emblazoned across the sun visor of a Ford Capri! I’m glad now, I had my teeth done but I’m having a dilemma about what to take as a gift: vole or goldfish (Oliver and Emilia at Number 36 have three in a tank and I’m sure they wouldn’t miss one) or is a goldfish excessive for a first date? I’ve come to the conclusion dating is all very exhausting. Perhaps a nap…

If you are enjoying Merlot’s diary, please share it with your friends!

Thursday 22nd October 2020

Chantal has got very big since it was announced she is going to have a baby. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has at least eight babies and the small, contentious cot will have to go back to the shop and would be better swapped for a big fenced off area and a massive litter tray. Matt, for his part, is walking around as though he’s in a perpetual state of shock at the dawning of the age of responsibility. A row broke out after the result of the twelve-week scan when Matt scrutinised the grainy, monochrome image and declared that if you look at it closely, it’s obvious the baby wasn’t his. Chantal screamed words (to the effect of) how he came to that convenient conclusion? To which he responded, “It’s head’s too big, it doesn’t look anything like me and it’s the wrong colour!” With that, he left (rapidly) for The Laughing Goat, to discuss his position. By the time he arrived home, drunk and contrite, Chantal had decided on his ‘position’ for him and his future was on the doorstep in several plastic bags.  

On the subject of homeless; on Saturday, we heard Gideon Longfellow, the man who lives in the folly in the park at the end of The Avenue, is about to be evicted. He told Queenie when she dropped off a flask of soup, he didn’t want to take the hostel place offered, as the last time he went to one, it was full of addicts and the place was a haven for drug dealers. His ideal, he said, was to build himself an eco-friendly mobile shelter, just for sleeping in as he likes to spend his days in the local library or out in the open air. Opening his notebook, he showed her the design. Queenie thought it looked a bit like a fat, wooden sausage on bicycle wheels but it gave her an idea. On the way home, she popped in to see Saffron Wright-Smith at Number 36, who’s a sort of professional, ethical fundraiser and, by the end of the afternoon, they had formed a committee and persuaded Gary from Number 11 to provide free labour, to build “Gideon’s Pod”.

On Tuesday Lydia, Queenie’s mum, phoned to say she was thinking of getting married again. Queenie, looking like she’d been chewing on the rough end of a pigeon, enquired who the lucky man was? Lydia told her it wasn’t “a he”. Apparently, she’d met a woman at a party in Leicester and, as a same-sex relationship was number seventy-four on her list of one hundred things to do before she died, it felt like a great opportunity to tick something else off. It was either that or climbing Kilimanjaro, currently number thirty-nine but that wasn’t happening due to lack of funds and, frankly, energy. She felt that as she’d shared her van with the woman for a whole week without major incident, it was a good omen for the future. Plus ‘Suki’ could whip up an amazing macaroni cheese on a single ring on the stove! Queenie, pointed out that a week really wasn’t very long to be talking about marriage, regardless of Suki’s culinary talent. Lydia said she’d married Queenie’s father after a weekend and in any case, a wedding in the South of England was about the only way currently, to get more than six people together for a knees-up! 

Thursday 15th October 2020

On Sunday, Queenie was being particularly difficult to communicate with. I really fancied chicken liver flavour dinner but she perused the sachets of food and gave me tuna. I stared at my bowl and back up at her which she ignored, so we entered a sort of sachet stand-off. I’ve come to the conclusion that humans are a bit like vending machines. Sometimes you think your’e getting one thing and they dispense something quite different!

The tabby kitten at “Mr Mistoffel-Teas” cat cafe has grown considerably since the last time I saw it. To be honest, I’ve been avoiding the place lest there’s a repeat of the pointing and waving, that threatened to tarnish my reputation. We might look very similar but that doesn’t mean a thing. I’m not originally from around here and by the time I arrived, I would have been incapable of fatherhood. I therefore firmly rest my case for the defence but there are cats around here that will say, “There’s no fur without fathers!” Nonetheless, I do feel sorry for the poor young chap stuck in there, having to perform on his cat tree all day. It must be very tiring. On Wednesday, I couldn’t help glancing in through the door when passing and I spotted Mike Jones wearing a stylish skirt and blouse having a coffee with Yaz and Yvonne from Number 22. The tabby teenager was on Yvonne’s lap and the three of them were giving him an obscene amount of fuss. I couldn’t help feeling an irrational sense of jealousy. Tail and nose in the air, I trotted off to see Liam, who had just taken delivery of half a dozen “Neo-ancient” Chinese vases from Taiwan. I found him at the back of his shop rubbing shoe polish into man-made scratches in the vases, to age them. With a grin, he swore me to secrecy and with a light tap on my nose he said, “In these troubled times, Merlot, a man has to make a living, any way he can. Let’s face it, the punter thinks they have a little piece of history and I’m quid’s in. Everybody wins!” Did they? Mulling this over and feeling very uneasy, I went home and suddenly felt the need to have a thoroughly good wash. 

I was strolling past Hector and Martha’s house on Tuesday and Kiki the re-homed parrot was screeching, “I want a divorce and I’m taking the BMW!” at the top of her voice. I believe Hector is trying to distract her from her existing vocabulary and particularly her grasp of profanity by repeating over and over “I love Antigua”. It doesn’t seem to be working….  

I hear there is the threat of another toilet roll shortage due to people stockpiling because of the threat of another COVID lockdown. All I can say is if humans were more supple they wouldn’t need it!