The joys of spring

Spring is here again.

I enjoy the longer days, the milder weather and lazing about in the sun as much as the next cat, but spring also has its downsides. It is the time of year when my humans start coming out in the garden, you see -- MY garden. Where were they in the bitter, cold winter, when I had to brave the elements to routinely patrol the area for unwanted felines?


And I don't recall seeing them out there when I was struggling with a ferocious slowworm over control of this most strategic of territories (although at least the Man gave that little episode a nod of acknowledgment with his latest skin-painting exercise).

I had hoped and expected that by maintaining a constant presence in the garden, I would be recognized as the sole user of that area. But no. Now that the weather is fine, the humans want in. Well, we'll see about that.

The other day, knowing that the Woman would come out to my garden to water the plants, I plundered my very own pet cemetery, which I set up a few months ago at the back of a giant shrub, to dig up a little surprise for her.


As she went to the tap to fill up her watering cans, I laid down on the decking, to better savour the moment when she would certainly squeal like those delicious mice I sometimes find for supper. I half-closed my eyes and followed her every movement. The sun on my shiny black fur, the breeze on my long, white whiskers, a moment of shock for my human... does life get any better than that?

Alas, it was not to be. The Woman seems to have grown somewhat bolder over the winter: rather than the terror-fuelled squeal I had so eagerly anticipated, she reacted to my "gift" with a mere sharp intake of breath. Disappointing.

Still, she called the other human over, and they had a good look at my handiwork. Then they did the only thing that would make me forgive them for trespassing into my territory: they rubbed my chin and praised my hunting skills. That's what I'm talking about, bitches!