Filthy nails and a filthy cat

Two weeks. It takes just two weeks for Artur to turn feral.

I arrived home in the late afternoon and went cat hunting at once. I called into the potting shed; no sign. The eragrostis grasses and gaura seedlings were all thriving thanks to the ministrations of my dear neighbour, and friend Elodie.

I planned to move things inside, but actually wanted to find the little cat first. And there he was. On the path.

He meowed at me, offered his best death stare, and then stalked straight past.

It wasn’t even loathing for abandoning him; it was utter disdain. Sigh. This could take a while.

The closest I can get to him is sitting on the chaise longue watching on his perch at the front door of the potting shed.

And in the meanwhile I have plunged into the potager.

There is weeding to do the nets to be removed from the cabbages and order to create. The cabbage moth butterflies are still about, but I think I’ll chance the laying of eggs on the leaves in exchange for being able to get at the brassicas without lifting the nets.

So lovely to get my fingers dirty again.