cATHEAD'S cRANKY wORLD

Our return trip from France all went swimmingly and smoothly as we squeezed the last drops of summer sun out of the sky into our bods to get us through the 6-month English winter. Keeper seemed full of content as the camper sped through the French countryside back to Calais. He sat me up again in the front seat on the four cushions, with my tiny kiddies sun specs on. It was so fab.

So it came as a bit of a surprise the other nite when keeper woke me as he hurtled through the lounge at 3am, all dishevelled like, with the strap from his digicamera swinging behind. Into the kitchen he spun in bare feet, by which time I'd raised my dozy cat head from my basket curl. Then the ears perked.

Deja Vu time.

" There's some bloody thing out there" he muttered to himself.
I sat up, arched my shimmery black back, hopped out the basket and strolled round onto the kitchen tiles and yawned a cat yawn. There was keeper, leaned over the washing machine, outstretching his pyjama'd arm and holding the camera up against the window and FLASH!
I widened my sleep-encrusted cat peepers and stared up at him unblinkingly.
" Right, now, what the devil is that out there " he bent over to study the LCD screen to see what he'd caught and in something straight out of One Foot In the Grave said
" I don't believe it! . .. .no it's not possible. . .it can't be, must be a horrible co-incidence "

He left the camera, display still lit, on the formica topboard and quickly unlocked the door to the garden and vanished out into the night. I sprang up and gazed unblinkingly at the bright square and you know what, certain things began to coalesce and make sense. For that trip back from France was just a little odd in one or two areas actually, come to think of it.

" Shoo, shooo, get out! " came from the garden and then a clank of a dustbin lid and my keeper waded back in looking like a waking nightmare, locked the door and turned just as Dingo came trotting eagerly round from the lounge, tongue out and smiling, looking for a ( very) early morning walkies.

Keeper sat on a bar stool at the kitchen diner, crossed one leg up across the other and picked a large piece of potato peeling out from between his toes. Before I knew it Dingo had snatched the spud skin out of keepers hand and downed it in one, looking straight back up with expectant eyes for seconds.
" For Christ's sake Dingo, is there anything you won't eat! You naughty girl now get down."
Dingo sauntered back into the lounge as keeper got up from the stool and sighed, looking down at me.
" Show's over Cathead and you too Dingo, back you go " He grabbed the camera and retired wearily back to his bedroom, holding the door for Dingo to enter before closing it.

Buffy stayed sounders the entire time in her doilly- adorned basket across the room. She's got keeper sussed alright, lets him get on with it.

As I was saying, that France trip back seemed odd in some ways, there was a strange odour abouts the van, kind of damp-dog-drying-out mixed with slightly off foodstuffs. My cat nose reflex-twitched frequently. I just throught we must be passing sewage treatment plants or something. And as keeper unloaded the van outside the house on our return, I did note an extra shuffling noise as he slid one of the suitcases out from the back. Now our campervan is full of little storage spaces, hidey holes, nooks and crannies you know.

Keeper thought it was another strikingly similar creature the other night so no one should ever tell him. We had a bushy-tailed stowaway!

He's back!
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MORRISON ( back)
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and justifying his fox cub name again - what were the chances he'd find another Morrisons bag? That keeper just never learns to put the rubbish in the bins, but fantastic for Cathead. Another little playmate in the neighbourhood.

You know what they say; a fox is just a friend you've never met.

Yowww!

CATHEAD