Today I have mostly been sewing. Embroidery. Experimental thereof. I like sewing. And listening to the radio. It is one of the most relaxing things, sewing whilst listening to the radio, except when Flora tries to help by sorting out embroidery threads, or sitting on the pattern, or stealing my pencil, and then it becomes a not very relaxing experience and I have to say, 'Flora, if you DO not BEHAVE then I shall be forced to evict from my arty crafty room onto the landing and close the door upon your small kitten person VERY firmly,' and then she says, 'Okay,' and sulks on the chaise behind me where she can keep an eye on proceedings just in case I need a hand with anything, like using my small, pointy and very sharp embroidery scissors or locating a needle that I put down in a very safe place but now can't find.
Anyway, sewing I have been, except for a small interlude at lunch time where Andy and I went out for lunch. Before we went out I said, 'I shall just retrieve the sheepskin rug I washed yesterday from outside where it is drying, just in case it rains.' And I did, but must have not shut the back door properly when I came back in, but more on the consequences of that in a minute after I tell you about the sheepskin rug.
On return from holiday last week I kept picking up an iffy scent whenever I sat near the sheepskin rug in the living room. Sort of 'curry 'n' Febreezey.' Now, I am
NOT saying that whilst we were away the rug met with a curry accident and an attempt was made to clear it up with soap and Febreeze. Oh no. All I am saying is that I kept getting a curry 'n' Febreezey smell wafting over, and given I am not a great fan of curry, mostly because it makes everything stink of curry, I thought, I am going to pop that rug in the washing machine. And then I thought, perhaps it ought to be specialist dry-cleaned. And then I thought, do farmers dry clean sheep? No, they do not. Do sheep stand in fields in the rain getting wet and then do they dry off in the sun? Yes, they do! Into the washing machine with you then, sheepskin m'lass.
The rug, on a wool wash (what else?) survived the experience and emerged clean but smelling of wet sheep which in my opinion is a vast improvement on curry. Once outside the woolly bit dried really quickly and fluffed up nicely but the back remained soggy so I flipped it over where it was resting on the garden table and it almost dried, just needed finishing off today, which it has. Job done and aufwiedersehen curry.
Back to the door which I didn't shut properly...
...when we returned from lunch, Andy said, 'The back door is open! Tybalt is sitting on the patio!' And Tybalt strolled inside, no probs, because on the two occasions he has found himself outside in his ten year life by accidentally falling out of the kitchen window, he has been very keen to get back inside and resume his career as a house cat.
But Phoebe was gone. (Flora was still upstairs on the chaise awaiting embroidery activities to resume.)
To be fair, Phoebe didn't take a lot of finding. She was sitting in the middle of the herb garden surrounded by chickens, if indeed it is possible for two hens to execute the surrounding of a cat. Her fur was very warm which suggested she had been outside for some considerable time. The look on her face when Andy brought her back inside was, 'I am 18. My ancient legs are never going to get me over the fence. Please can I go back outside? But get rid of the chickens.'
And this my life has come to, reporting on embroidery and a not-quite escapee elderly cat. I could regale you with the spontaneous episode I experienced yesterday of having a tree chopped down but I fear the excitement may prove too much for you. I'll save it for another day, eh?