In which Perkins the Kitten demonstrates how not to climb down from the top of a tree…
I’d forgotten what whirlwinds kittens are. We’ve had Perkins in the bathtub, Perkins in the sink, Perkins in the washing machine (that was a close call), Perkins tinkling the ivories on the piano… all often within the same half hour.
In which there is a very tiny new addition to the household.
Bella the cat waits for her Morepork
In the last few weeks, I’ve been kept awake by a multitude of marauding mosquitoes. They suck so much of my blood I’m always surprised to find I’m alive in the morning, and that the mosquitoes still look so tiny when they should have the most bulbous of bellies.
But, despite this nasty, nightly feasting, I can’t help feeling sorry for Morris the Bathroom Mosquito.
Don’t get me wrong; I hate the little buggers as much as anyone. As concrete proof of this, here is a poem a teenage version of me, driven half insane with fury, wrote in the middle of the night on a holiday in Wales with my friend, Sophie.
One day, we were making toast for breakfast and noticed the kitchen smelt really bad. Of dead things. I looked in the cupboards, under the cupboards, behind the cupboards several hundred times. Nothing. We ate the toast…
Edith Wharton described her dog as ‘a little heartbeat at my feet’. The steady presence of animals is very comforting when you’re writing. Here are my own two little heartbeats. There is another one, but […]