Cats in cahoots

Oh, I give up.

Once again my attempts to thwart the inner domestic goddess have been foiled.

It is Spring, and the cats always celebrate this by bringing fieldmice in the house. I found the one they kindly left next to my favourite boots, but Bailey was sniffing around very enthusiastically and I suspect they have another one lurking about somewhere.

Cue full furniture moving session tomorrow, with a weekend of spring cleaning as today's exploration of the further edges of the living room revealed

an old copy of Private Eye behind the sofa

some earrings that had fallen off the bookcase

rather too much wallpaper clawed from the wall by Tig/Jasmine

and sod-all else.  I could take it at face value, no mice, but Bailey never gets that animated without good reason.

I have pointed out that dead mice are not really a present I appreciate, but the suffer from Feline Selective Deafness. I suspect that this was a ploy to take my mind off work. I would have preferred booze and chocolate.

Changing

I love this photo.

It's in the garden at the Guggenheim in Venice. I can't remember the name of the artist, but the little girl in the photo had stood chattering at it (in English and German) for a good five minutes before her mother scooped her up. In this photo, she had just made a spirited grab for the letters on the last line. I would love to know what she made of it all.

I use a cropped version on my Facebook now and then. And right now, it feels very appropriate.