Concrete

My drawbridge has gone.  New concrete covers part of the backyard and right down the middle of the drive where there use to be cracked old paving slabs.  Mr B wouldn’t let me walk in it on the first day they were there to pour the concrete.  He took me to Chichester, but it was like the trip at Christmas time – I sicked in the car at the very end of our return journey.  Mr B didn’t have me in a cardboard box so he got catsick on his passenger seat.  His fault – I was trying to tell him to “stop, I feel sick.”

On the second day the builders were pouring concrete I walked in it.  They unceremoniously scooped me up and passed me indoors upon which Mr B dumped me up to my tummy in a sink full of dirty dish water.  How unhealthy is that?  The germs I might catch from human food scraps and pot washings....!   YUCK.

Day three, and I had to start tearing up carpet before my indoor confinement was ended and I could get out and supervise the job’s completion.  The drive is finished now and the only footprints in it look suspiciously like a wood pigeon’s.  I didn’t notice any pigeon getting dumped in the sink.