by Carlton Cat
LAST week the Mrs was toiling over a sketch pad, mapping out a floral blueprint for the garden. For the spring she envisaged a plot covered by swathes of brightly-coloured daffodils, narcissi, tulips and lily of the valley. The Mr and Mrs then spent all morning planting spring-flowering bulbs.
I spent all afternoon digging them up again.
Look, I thought I was being helpful. To my aesthetic sensibilities there were far too many bulbs, they needed thinning out and I was the one to do it. I can’t deny I took some kind of pleasure from the task. It was very satisfying getting my paws dirty, digging down, searching around and then hooking out the little bulb.
I was tidy. After playing with the bulbs, throwing them up in the air and pouncing on them, I lined them up neatly outside the back door.
|Busy in the garden|
My task done, I padded across the kitchen floor, into the sitting-room and up onto the sofa, leaving clumps of dark brown soil as I went.
The Mrs arrived home from work, humming brightly. She dumped her work paraphernalia in the hall and flung open the sitting-room door. Her mouth fell open.
“Carlton!” she yelled. ‘What have you been doing?’ Her eyes followed the trail of mud from door to sofa. Tutting, she went to fetch cleaning products.
She must have opened the back door because I heard a sharp scream. ‘Noooooooo!’
There’s a saying, isn’t there, ‘discretion is the better part of valour’, which, to paraphrase means 'get the hell out of there before you get your arse whipped’. I took off for my hidey hole under the shed where I stayed for a couple of hours cleaning off my paws and snoozing. I waited long enough for the Mr and Mrs to get worried about me. It started to get dark and I heard them calling.
I tentatively approached the Mr and wound myself around his legs. He picked me up.
“There you are! You’re a very naughty boy, aren’t you?” But his voice was soft, not angry.
The Mrs tickled me under the chin.
“What are we going to do with you Carlton?” she said, and sighed quite loudly.
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