Quite a lot of work on this week for both of us but we managed to go out twice after Easter. On Tuesday evening we prepped about two beds each. OH planted his earlies and more zen onions. I sowed mainly flowers -- cornflowers, marigolds, sea lavender and dianthus plus lots of sunflowers all around the allotment. Last year, the sunflowers, the giant type, were spectacular, absolutely massive. They all stayed up and the heads became welcome winter food for our birds.
The flowers, if the seeds sprout, are to become our bedding plants for the back garden by the house. I took a nudge from my friend who has a much better eye for design than me and who said that our garden looked a lot nicer before we turned it into a veg plot. Ah. Okay! Since we're now Cat Central Station, with lots of through-traffic as it were, I'm less inclined to plant anything edible in there -- and will, when the time comes to plant out our flowers, probably wrap myself in a polythene whole-body condom three times before I venture into the beds. I fricking hate cat shit.
Speaking of cats: the older ours get, the more neurotic and opaque in their decision-making they've become. They'll happily scratch the silicone sealant off the patio door frame to indicate that they absolutely have to get out now. Then, when we've shuffled to attend to their needs, they'll step nonchalantly onto the patio, sniff the air for a bit and then sit down in front of the patio door, looking in expectantly. It should perhaps be said that at this point, the patio door is still open and the fool who left the warm, soft sofa to let them out is standing there right in front of them, slapping themselves repeatedly.
I've had enough of this. So, after careful market research, I ordered a microchip-programmable cat flap. It's now arrived and we'll fix it next week. OH gave me great advice before I ordered it: I should cut the dimensions and make both cats jump through the hole. If they're too fat, we won't buy the product. I make the contraption and take it to NeurotiCat, a 15-year-old female tortie adopted from the local cat shelter 9 years ago. She's slim and sprightly. She hops through the hole no problem. Then onto Cat 2. Cat 2, a black and white tom who might have modelled for Felix cat food, used to be the scrawny neighbourhood bruiser. He's somehow always been in the area. He's probably immortal. Four doors down adopted him many years ago but then got a dog so Cat 2 scarpered. We took pity on him and fed him outside at first, then enticed him into the house. I like to think we've allowed his basic cat personality to come out after years of street-fighting and low-level survival anxiety. Essentially, he is a softie. He has been a fat, cuddly, fireside, pillow-hogging, face-smooching kittie waiting to come out. Or rather, to fill out. Because he is a tub of guts now, with two hilarious moobs. Will he squeeze through the cardboard hole? Will he even bother to jump? Will I have to lay out a banquet of Sheba and gallons of milk on the other side of it?
He too pops through the hole without a problem. The microchip cat flap gets ordered.
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