That lovely fluffy
torty allotment kittie visits us again one evening as we valiantly
struggle with bindweed, chickweed, fat hen and a particularly
effective stinging nettle that looks as though it's harmless and
that hides underneath non-stinging leaves, the little beggar.
Kitty
cheers me up no end: he/she (I can't tell these things!) miaows
appealingly, runs rings around me, rubs its bits against me and
follows me around the plot to everywhere, probably hoping for food.
When I trudge down to the river for more water, it wanders along with
me. It is adorably clumsy: it keeps jumping up on fences alongside me
to stay above my head height – a cat authority thing no doubt –
but on one occasion it doesn't realise that the fence it has been
aiming for is a neighbour's open water butt.
I keep forgetting to
bring it some chewable goodies but I do offer it lots of cuddles instead. It accepts
gracefully but then takes itself off to OH, who is a pussy magnet.
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