That Effing Feline

All joking aside I loathe that cat, with a fierce and deep flowing passion.

I've now been out to clear up today's windfall (that bloody plum) and what I've found is the strawberry bed covered under a white blanket. This summer's been a complete fucking joke but it hasn't actually snowed; this was a blanket of white feathers. The only upside here is that the slaughter happened outside rather than in the house - that would have been a catastrophe given the scale of spread of evidence.

I peered in some trepidation but was forced to conclude that the corpus delicti - yes, yes, I do appreciate that the feathers constitute in ample sufficiency the evidence necessary; consider this covered by poetic licence - had gone the way of the body belonging to the mouse's head The Slug found in the other garden yesterday morning.

Only after fetching gloves and gearing up for the really squishy ones did I finally spot the wood pigeon prostrate on the paving. Buggeration. That meant a clear up operation.

Of course that nosy minx from a couple of doors away turned up right in the middle of the procedure. She's still a kitten but she actually growled when I dragged her off the body and dumped her by the biscuit bowl. That gave me enough time to bag the body. I thought the food might have driven thoughts of dead birds from her tiny little mind but oh, no. She came back and sat by it, I turned away, I turned back, the bag was upside down. Minx.

The bag, along with the body therein, has been donated to Tesco. Couldn't think of a worthier cause on the spur of the moment. Sorry.