…was mow the lawn.
…was mow the lawn.
Unfortunately China is the name of my mother’s cat, and her feline idea of a neat gift is a small mammal. In this case, about as small as they get – a pygmy shrew. Poor little thing. I’ve shown it here with a credit card as they’re the same size the world over. As you see, it’s no bigger than your thumb.
Well, it’s nature’s way I guess. I mean, we actually have this cat around in order to murder small mammals, so I can’t be mad with her when she catches a non-verminous one. Though I notice there’s an ongoing debate in the US about whether cats are a major threat to the balance of nature as they’re not a native species. Well I suppose nothing is a native species if you go back far enough, but as domestic cats have only been in North America for a few hundred years you could see how the native birds aren’t prepared for them, and though it would be surprising if there wasn’t a native predator in the same niche, I can’t actually think of one. What catches small wild birds in North America? I don’t think coyotes do. Fisher cats perhaps, and related weasel-like things. But they are only found in some climates.
I don’t know; as far as I’m aware, cats in North America have never really gone feral and therefore are only found where humans live. And with a few exceptions, the balance of species in such places is never going to resemble what it did before farming and industry. So I suspect removing cats would be like trying to make a shopping mall more like a forest by painting it green.
But perhaps I should know better than to get into an argument between cat people and bird lovers.
Oh God. Been playing with this thing¹ all day long, and most of the night. Got less than four hours’ sleep. Excuse me please if I’m writing little and making sense even less.
Did you see there’s going to be a new Agatha Christie film? What makes this one different is that the woman playing Jane Marple is in her thirties rather than her sixties. Perhaps we’re going to be treated to the first Miss Marple nude scene.
There’s a phrase I never thought I’d be saying.
Ha! Poor cat. That must’ve been a shock. Since the weather got warm, I’ve been opening the window in the attic room where I sleep. She’s taken to coming up here and using it as her cat flap. She hops onto the bed first, then leaps through.
It was cold tonight.
From now on, I will always recognise the sound of a cat attempting to jump through a closed window.