Tuesday, 6 April 2010

Head Gardener

Meet the head gardener...
She is the boss and supervises my every move, in and out of the garden. A creature of habit and routine, she watches disdainfully as I dig up favourite haunts, add new and strange plants to her sunbathing spots and generally annoy her with my interferences.
Rather like a sheepdog, she warns me off by pushing at my legs until I move on. Keen on pruning, she helpfully rubs off the tiny figs whilst rubbing her whiskers on the bare wood, sleeps heavily on the alchemilla, ensuring it stays flattened at all times, and sharpens her claws carelessly along the rough surface of an ancient vine.
Preferred entry to the house is through my bedroom window, smartly bypassing the cutting edge, microchip-reading catflap, installed at great expense. From the window ledge she takes a gigantic leap onto the bed, not such fun in the middle of the night, a 12 lb furball landing on your head.
Still, she's the only staff i've got...

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