Daniel doesn't do cards.

I was looking in the basket today. The basket Lil was in when I last saw her. She's not there. She won't return, Susan says...
 Martin's project wasn't so good, apparently. So he's a bit of a grump. He wants me to let him rub my ears... I'll think about it.
He was given a cooking thingey – a very belated birthday pressie. It grills things. I think he's pleased, can't tell. It was from Daniel, his son, the head hunter – which is better than a card I think. Daniel doesn't do cards.

I know I'm not Grey Friars Bobby. I am NOT a dog!

Susan say’s, “You have to eat!”
I’ll eat when I feel like eating and at the moment I don’t. Sometimes I just want a moment of solitude at the henge. This is Lil's burial site. She has her very own henge.

But see the little yellow blob by the stone? That’s a yellow lily. They were a gift for Susan on her birthday. This lily flower is a gift to Lilly cat.
“Don’t be Grey Friars Bobby!” Susan says, rubbing my ears.
I’m not Grey Friars Bobby. I am NOT a dog!
I am cat.
Most other times though, I’m with Susan. She needs my company I reckon. So when she’s at the computer, I’m on the computer desk; shed, I’m there; studio, she has my company; kitchen, me too. Bathroom, she’s closed the door! But I can rattle the handle...

Some things are just meant to be.

Ok. I've come to a decision. Some things are just meant to be. Ferdinand is gone, and Susan says Lil can't come back. (I'm not sure about this!) I lead Susan to the henge – she doesn't understand that Lil is here...

I don't like spam either.

I don't like spam. Pink flabby stuff. Sort of grub Lil would...


I got a message from google that this blog is to be closed because of spam. (Even though it's not pink.) These are not good times...

'Hello,
Your blog at http://diaryofagingertomcat.blogspot.com/ has been identified as a potential spam blog. Your blog will be deleted in 20 days if it isn't reviewed, and your readers will see a warning page during this time.
After we receive your request, we'll review your blog and unlock it within two business days. Once we have reviewed and determined your blog is not spam, the blog will be unlocked and the message in your Blogger dashboard will no longer be displayed. If this blog doesn't belong to you, you don't have to do anything, and any other blogs you may have won't be affected.
We find spam by using an automated classifier. Automatic spam detection is inherently fuzzy, and occasionally a blog like yours is flagged incorrectly. We sincerely apologize for this error.By using this kind of system, however, we can dedicate more storage, bandwidth, and engineering resources to bloggers like you instead of to spammers.'

In our garden we have a henge – A Lilly henge.

I was looking beneath the chest of drawers; this is the place Lil sleeps while she’s convalescing. There’s an ancient Chinese bowl under there wrapped in bubble wrap – a perfect, curled up asleep, cat- size dish. It used to be my place, but I gave it to Lil – on a temporary basis, until she’s better, and providing she doesn’t throw up.
Susan said, “She’s not there Dolly.”
Well I can see she’s not here! We live in Wiltshire, home of the henge -Stonehenge. In our garden we too have a henge – a Lilly henge.

I poked her in the eye with my paw.

I woke Susan at 2 o’clock and said, “Lil’s not back yet."
“Shh, Doll. It’s OK.”
At 3.00 am, I poked her in the eye with my paw just to let her know that it was not OK, and I was going out...
It was a lovely night. Clear and dry. Stars shimmered on an ink blue sky – no breeze to ruffle my fur. I hate to say this. I always thought it would be great to be THE cat of the house.
But...

She’s been out all night and she wouldn’t like that.

Last night I reminded Susan that Lil was outside. She wouldn’t like that. I reminded her at 3.o' clock and again at 3.30. Susan got herself a drink.
Good she’s up. “Now go and get Lil.” She didn’t.
She’s dosing off again. There is a glimmer of light in the sky, must be about 4.00 am. I tap Susan on the forehead. She rubs my head. “Lil! Outside! Go!”
 Susan told me to, “Shh.”
I purr in her ear. Snuggle. At 4.30 Susan puts on the news. I’m on her head, a furry nightcap. Every half hour, throughout the night, Susan has ignored me. At 7.00 am, I go out. I can smell Lil. Susan scattered the contents of her litter tray on the plant borders. I can smell Lil. The paving stone are damp and it’s breezy. Lil doesn’t like the wind in her coat and she doesn’t do damp. I know Lil. She’s been out all night and she wouldn’t like that.