Teaching cats to count, and other challenges. Warning, daft and long!

Evening all, hope everyone is as well as can be expected, and that those who are not are receiving love and support.

Well, another year begins, and already a New Years resolution has bitten the dust (they would only have gone off, and to waste food seems sinful, plus the tub of extra thick brandy cream would also have been wasted, as it was bought specifically to go with them, I blame Mr P, he just doesn't pull his weight in the mince pie eating department, and him saying that he doesn't like them is, I think a pretty poor excuse, and that M'Lud is the case for the defence) I think I can claim a dispensation when it comes to the option of putting them into the wheelie bin, although I'm quite prepared to give it a go as long as certain safety measures are deployed

As ever, I digress.

As many will know I am the personal assistant/cat concierge owner of 2 fine specimens of the feline variety, namely Digby and Oliver Sprout, both courtesy of Cat's Protection. My much loved previous charges, Maurice, Lily & Clucky now being in a state of permanent residence in the garden

Aaanyway, the two delightful chaps have brought much joy (and the occasional irritation (yes, Sprout, some of your habits MUST change)

They both indicate the need to go out or in by sitting on the kitchen window sill. Admittedly Digby did used to spend hours in the hall sitting by the front door in the forlorn hope that someone might notice, but the penny eventually dropped that it didn't work.

The going out isn't much of a problem, I open the kitchen window or the front door, and usually out they go. Admittedly Digby has been known to change his mind once he sees the weather, but not quite as bad as my mothers cat who would ask to go out of the back door, and if it was raining would solemnly stalk through the conservatory, utility room, kitchen and hall in the belief that the weather might be more to her liking at the front end of the house. Digby covers his indecision/embarrassment by suddenly noticing that his tummy needs washing. As he is still just over a stone in weight, this can take the best part of some time!

But the coming in! Oh my word what a palaver!

I see them on the outside of the kitchen window sill, and go to the door to let them in. I am greeted by a gormless gaze (Digby, I swear that cat is either prematurely senile at the age of 4, or some sort of half wit) or a cheery miaow (Oliver Sprout, a bit of a liability, what with his tail)

My noises of encouragement seem to have no effect. Digby would much prefer that I went and picked him up and carried him in, and Oliver Spout (for reasons unknown) would rather ingress through the window In the evening this involves raising the rather recalcitrant Venetian blind, so I prefer the door.

Mr P reminded me of what I used to do with the much missed Maurice, which was to "count". So, now I open the door, and count aloud to five, before shutting the door.

Guess what?! It seems to be working! I now very rarely get past 3!

Now, if only I could find a way to teach Mr P the difference between the laundry basket and the floor.............................