Just when I thought that holidays had started and that I could laze in the sun to recover from the rigours of Christmas the slave decided to assault her summer garden……
And yes, you’ve guessed it – the feral hasn’t been here to stay on top of the vermin – behind the hydrangea in the stone wall, she put her hand into the middle of a nest of fieldmice.
Shock! Horror! Squeals of alarm! Followed by a dash to the verandah where I lay snoozing in the sun. She swept me up, thrust me under the hydrangea bush and told me to get to work. What cheek!
I was so offended I was on the point of stalking off to show her that’s no way to treat a Lord of the Universe when the Thrill of the Hunt overcame me. I stayed and slaughtered five (three were pups so scarcely worth the effort) and proudly laid them in a line at the back door. To my great miffment she collected them all on a dustpan and threw them over the cliff edge so I couldn’t drool over the body count. What a spoilsport.