monkeys fist

Since discovering the Ashley Book of Knots Pocket has been constantly playing with bits of rope and string. A knot is never nearly right he tells me it is either exactly right or hopelessly wrong.

Do you have a favourite knot? I ask. He chased a bit of rope under the table Oh there are so many I can't possibly remember which one I like the best - there's the tucked sheet bend, the thief knot and the monkeys fist is very challenging. Cat o nine tails? I ask. He scowls. That's not technically a knot he answers. And it's rather horrid using our name for an implement of torture. He tucks his paws under his chest. Mistrust all in whom the desire to punish is imperative. he says. Ah you've been consulting Goethe? I say.  I never consult anyone he said and never heard of him -anyway I've been writing my sea faring journal - not consulting people.

He does admit that a cat's account of things cannot always be perceived as accurate and that a few of his recollections might be somewhat fictionalized but this only applies when things might have happened when sleeping or doing the arduous task of fur washing or when patrolling the ship on the port side whilst something important was happening on the starboard.

He seems to relish the thought of being a ship's cat and I haven't the heart to remind him he's never actually been on a ship but then we all write fiction.

He also told me he noticed that Whiskers had reduced the size of the food packets from 100 to 85gms and no wonder he was always hungry. They hadn't reduced the price I told him and we both agreed it was a bit of a cheek. Shrinkflation he shrugged.

Magpie was quite pleased with her first taste of snow

and also tasting my breakfast when my back was turned. 

The wildlife hospital have given me two crows and another magpie to look after none of which manage to fly at the moment. I'm hoping to match mate the two magpies but Mrs Magpie can't get into the shade tunnel where they are living to check it out. And of course I have no idea what sex either of them are. They all eat more than the cats. Since writing this I let Mrs Mag into the shade tunnel and she flew over and attacked the new magpie. I'm wondering if Mrs Magpie might in fact be Mr Magpie and this could be a mating ritual. Perhaps he secretly has a bluebird in his heart.(see poem at end for ref)

Rocket was practicing the Alpine Butterfly Bend knot and got into a bit of a muddle.

 And oh look at this adorable five week old fox cub that the hospital have saved. Someone watched a vixen drop it on their lawn and walk off - it was still in its thin membrane birthing sac and had to be rescued from it and immediately kept warm. It's a miracle he survived and is now rather mischievous. I very much wanted to take him home but fortunately common sense prevailed which is rather unusual with me.

I love this poem by Charles Bukowski. Of the many things he wrote and said this is one

"Everybody is born a genius and buried an idiot." This is the sort of thing Pocket will claim as his own.