The house has begun to smell of cat poo.
At first I thought that this was because of kitten accidents in places where there should not be kitten accidents, but investigation has led me to discover that I ought not to blame the kittens at all. The kittens have been virtuously using their litter tray, like good little kittens, and there are no accidents anywhere at all.
The culprit is Rosie, who has been rooting about in the cat litter tray and devouring its contents.
This has given her the most appalling wind imaginable. There is no odour quite like cat-poo-flavoured-dog-wind, and for the first time I have begun to wish that last year’s dose of bat-flu had done more damage to my olfactory sense than it actually did. My sense of smell has never recovered, but even so Rosie’s misfortunate digestive difficulties are quite overpowering.
I have told her that if I catch her doing it again she will be going to live in the garden for the rest of her life, but despite this I suspect she is still finding it too tempting to resist. We have just come in now from the Library Gardens, and she made a bee-line for the litter tray, hopefully.
Dogs are vile.
Poor Mark has spent the entire day messing about with his solar panel. It has proved difficult to seal properly, despite many applications of some costly plumbing silicone stuff that he has had to purchase, but he thinks he has done it now. The tubes are second hand and do not sit quite as snugly as they should, but he thinks he has got it sorted out. I hope so. There was barely any sunshine today at all, in fact the weather was reasonably rubbish, but by the time he had finished the tubes were still too hot to touch.
Despite his difficulties, he has had a nicely social time sitting on the roof. Windermere is a conversational sort of place, and he has spent the day explaining solar technology to interested passers-by. This has not exactly speeded the job along.
I have been fully occupied in the domestic sphere. I am off to Cambridge on Sunday and hence am trying to make sure Mark does not starve to death whilst I am gone.
I have made biscuits, chocolate and fudge, which should do the job reasonably well.
Lucy is still with us, although she has been barely noticeable because in the manner of homecoming children, she has spent pretty much the entire day asleep. We took the kittens to the vet this afternoon, and they behaved really quite remarkably well, at least in comparison with Rosie. Neither of them did a wee on the floor or barked savagely at strangers.
It is the middle of the night and I am off to bed. This is a short entry because of having run out of thrilling news. Making biscuits, chocolate and fudge occupies a mere single line of the diary, but a jolly lot of time in a day, most especially when you include the washing up. I cut some holly leaf shapes into the tops of the biscuits, and felt jolly seasonal, not long until the mince pies now.
On the subject of cooking: Mum, thank you for the offer of the jam jars. I am eternally grateful and am awaiting their arrival with excitement. I have taken down the dangling muslin bag of splashy stewed apples and blackberries, and it is waiting in the fridge until they turn up. It is very much appreciated.
We had apple and blackberry chutney with Wensleydale cheese on our sandwiches tonight.
With any luck I shall make the jam before I go off to Cambridge.
