Well, some things are looking up. And the weather is nice. Swept the front yard today, 12th November, stripped to the waist, in the sunshine.
An obscene sight, but witnessed by nobody, thanks to the comforting and protecting eight-foot wall round The Peacable.
Anyway, Murph got out of Tim's bed yesterday, walked upstairs and climbed onto a chair in Reb's office.
Single-handed. (well, single-pawed, well, four-pawed.)
So that's promising.
Mo, apart from his hacking cough, seems fine. He's a good and interesting cat, and will come when he's called, just like a dog.
I once had a cat that used to come on walks with me and our dog. Maybe Mo might join El Equipo A. We shall see.
Mo comes on command like some dogs, anyway.
But not all.
Two of mine are apt to behave differently; Lulu and Harry.
When all six of us set out for our morning walkies, for about the first half-hour everything is hunky-dory. L. and H., when released from their leads, straightaway do their morning business, then proceed to trot obediently just behind me, side -by-side as though they were on an obedience test - as if butter woudn't melt in their arses.
They then have a terrific, full speed race in circles around me, shouting and laughing and showing off like crazy.
But after that, I have to watch their body language minutely.
This is the tricky bit. Because they stare off at the horizon, then, as if at an unheard command, trot briskly away out of sight together.
And can stay out of sight for several hours. The current record is five.
No point calling them back when they do this. They just blow.
The solution, so far, is to judge when they are still thinking about it, then put one of them on the lead.
The other will zoom off, even vanish, from time to time, but won't go far, and will often return when called.
So, it's not so bad. Much pleasanter than being held upside down by one's heels, and having lighted matches dropped down one's nose. Much.
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