And it all happened quite by chance.
Regular readers may recall the more aggressive and short-tempered of our 12-year-old rescue cats Marleyboo (stop laughing, our kids named him when they were little) has got into the habit of leaving for three or four days at a time, only to appear at our back door looking well fed, well groomed and often licking his lips.
Well, miladdo has been well and truly rumbled. Last Saturday morning while taking our sighthound Walter for his daily patrol of the streets and parks of south Lancaster, there he was, large as life, glaring at us through the lounge window of a house five doors down from ours.
He just stared at us, in that way malevolent cats do, as if to say: “Yeah? So what? I call several properties home in this street, what are you going to do about it?”
Dear reader, we were quite taken aback. The boss even took a picture to mark the occasion for posterity. Thing is though, five minutes later he was drumming on our back door with his paws to be let in.
He didn’t rush to his food bowl, he never does. But if he gets any fatter he’ll burst.
We’ve just about got our heads around our daughters flying the nest when they went off to university – the house is so quiet that working from home during the day I can physically hear
myself think – now it seems one of the cats has done a flit too.
Daughter #2 graced us with her presence for the weekend recently and spent a grand total of 20 hours under our roof – and for 19 of those she was asleep.
She came back to go on a works day/night out with friends and colleagues, and managed to squeeze in an afternoon shift to bump up her student loan. This kid will go far.
As I’m off the sauce (13 weeks now, that halo won’t polish itself) I promised I’d pick her up and give her a lift home, not thinking she’d actually take me up on the offer with a chummy text at 11.20 on a Saturday night when people who aren’t quite as young as they used to be had been fast asleep for an hour.