There's a new cat in town, we welcomed home a rather reluctant Missie, cajoled and basketed over from Fife as an adoption and kind of replacement for the departed Smudge. Missie is of course Smudge's mum (and Clint's) so there are lots of eerie resemblances and little nuances we are picking up. Cats generally are not wholly easy in accepting one another so there was a bit of spitting and growling this morning, that was followed by some hiding and sniffing around but thankfully no territorial urination ceremonies. Anyway enough of Ali's and my behaviour (ching!), the process of cat acclimatization will run on for a few days, doors closed, movements controlled, food intake observed; then we can let them get on with the more meaningful business of culling the spring crop of mice, hiding in the bushes and waiting to invade.
In a vain attempt to make a vain attempt at gardening I spent a couple of hours raking leaves between passing showers and low clouds. I ended up with a binful of highly compressed dead leaves and bits of moss and stick but the garden hardly looks a lot better. In the brain dead and automatic state of raking I wondered if any creative or revolutionary thoughts would enter my head - none did, not even a chink of watered down day light. The brain seems to switch off at a higher level and only concentrates on not picking up worms, dog shit or those little thorny things (thorns) that hurt like hell when they prick your fingertips. Back to nature.
Listening to (Fraser's compilation):
Gil Scott Heron - The revolution will not be televised.
Grateful Dead - Ripple.
John Cooper Clark - Hire Car.
Sigur Ros - Various.