Three days before Christmas and the carols are ringing out chez IsobelandCat. I’ve not been to a carol service yet this year, and I think it’ll have to be tomorrow. I didn’t get my act together early enough for evensong at the abbey which is a ticket only event on the Sunday before Christmas, but I see there’s another Nine Lessons and Carols at St Bart the Great, so I’ll probably nip along there.
I’ve bought the sprouts, am stocking up on fizzy water, dusted and vacuumed, turned on the fairy lights, sent the ecards and trotted round the neighburhood with the local cards.
Today has been unsaeonably wet in London, though nowhere near as wet as in Devon where there are floods. MasterB played outside, bursting bubbles in puddles and happily splashing through expanses of water that Cat would have circled. Perhaps he has got the Bengal water gene after all.
He has also demanded a fair amount of indoor play, leapt up and knocked berries off the mistletoe to play with. A quick check online revealed they are poisoinous to cats, so I took nearly all of it down and gave it to neighbours with more rooms and highter ceilings. The crystals Sue sent me are hanging prettily in the windows, the cards are currently upright and the presents are in a satisfying heap.
I found copies of the pictures I posted of Cat two years ago when he decided he had had enough of cards on the windowsills. They were on my Telegraph page but as I said the other day, all but four photos have vanished from my blog and from the media library which make sme a bit sad.
So he is again, translated to this page.
I saw a picture of vet Emma Milne’s cat tonight, a dead ringer for Cat. So sad to read that he has an inoperable tumour. She says he’ll be spoiled this Christmas. Quite right too.