Mighty Hunters

I could write about the MPs' expenses scandal but everyone else already has. That old slogan "Don't vote - it only encourages them" seems more true by the day.

Anyway, here's a photo of Wendy the Teenage Kitten in the cat bed instead. Don't go telling me this blog isn't cutting edge.

Of course, the only reason Wendy's in the cat bed is because it's not hers. It belongs to our cat Froggie, who won't sleep in it, of course. Cats are like that.

Wendy spends every waking moment trying to hunt things. I've often seen her right at the top of the old pear tree, having an argument with the magpies who are nesting up there. She has no fear.

Years ago we had a black cat called Archie. His parents were pedigrees and he wasn't very bright. He liked hunting things, too. It was most entertaining to watch him stalking birds in the snow, in the pathetic belief that he couldn't be seen.

However, he once pulled off quite a triumph in the hunting stakes.

We heard a strange banging noise and, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be Archie trying to bring something in through the cat flap.

It was a roast leg of lamb, still nice and warm. We never did find out where it came from.