So in the middle of the night the boy cat is mewing to be let in and, half asleep, I forget what the particular noise he's making means. In he comes with mouse in mouth, and I groan and fall back into bed, trying unsuccessfully to go back to sleep and ignore the ensuing commotion, which goes on for at least an hour as the girl joins in.
In the morning I wake up with both cats asleep on the bed and presumably somewhere in the house a dead or alive mouse, unless of course said mouse is inside one of the cats being quietly digested.
It's my day to host the UpWords game and I turn the oven on and wait for it to reach 300 degrees so I can make the shortbread I prepared the day before. It's only 80 in the kitchen and I rig up an attractive old tablecloth across the window to keep the sun out. Shortbread done, it's out for breakfast with a friend and then back to the house where I eat four pieces of shortbread before the gamers arrive and I eat even more shortbread along with the de rigueur Sea Salt Caramel Talenti Gelato that accompanies UpWords.
Temperature's up to 98 by the time I've lost as usual so I retreat to the supposedly cool back room where I sleep, polish off what's left of the Sea Salt and then float on the bed in a stupefied sweat till about eight, when I stagger outside to water.
Four more goes of this, I think, stretching out to 2019. No sign of the mouse.
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