Welcome, readers, to the festive scribbling of Squirt the Somali Cat.  May I say how honoured I was to be invited to contribute to the Daily Mews.  Indeed, I felt almost as important as the Queen!

And how timely the invitation was since I had just discovered that it is a bad idea to climb up Staff’s legs when she is filling a hot water bottle from a steaming kettle.  I’ve been known to utter the odd rude word myself but Staff took swearing to a whole new level.  Working at the laptop will take her mind off retribution and I’m sure she can type with one hand.  The bandages should be off the other hand in a few days.  She’s wittering on about writer’s block but I’m not having any of her nonsense or excuses.

Christmas is such a magical time of year especially if you have children.  (Which I do not.)  Those of you who have read my book will know that the evil Box Man picked my pockets and stole my ‘bits’, but I did take revenge for his vile deeds and very satisfying it was too.  At least I have Mother to celebrate with and this year I am very grateful for that. 

December 5th was a dark day at our house.  Mother didn’t turn up for breakfast which is unheard of so Staff and I were a bit worried.  By midday there was still no sign of her and panic was setting in so a search party was organised.  We looked all over the place, searched the fields and all the farm buildings but we couldn’t find her anywhere.  By the evening Staff and I were distraught, imagining all the horrors that might have befallen Mother.  Bad weather was forecast and she could have been injured and unable to get home.  A torchlight search was fruitless and there was no response to our increasingly frantic calling, we could only sit at home and wait.  Then, just before midnight, we heard the ‘clack’ of the cat flap and Staff fell over one of the dogs in her rush to open the living room door.  In walked Mother looking perfectly fine and somewhat bemused at her reception.  I quizzed her but she would only say that she had been taking a little ‘me time’ whatever that is.  We’ll never know where she was but the main thing is that we are together again and looking forward to Christmas, our first in our new home.

Like anyone I love Christmas decorations but some people do go a bit over the top.  The other night I was tootling down the lane to visit the horses.  Well, I must have been passing the neighbour’s house at the very moment they decided to switch on their newly installed outdoor decorations.  There I was, wandering along in the peaceful darkness when suddenly, Bloody Hell!!  There was a huge illuminated Santa Claws complete with sleigh and reindeer right next to me!  I froze in my tracks, eyes like tennis balls.  I was utterly terrified for a few seconds until I realised what it was.  Honestly, don’t people need planning permission for an eight foot tall slightly sinister looking Santa?  I have decided to visit the horses in daylight until after the New Year.

With December 25th fast approaching I consider myself lucky that Staff is not one of those people who get stressed with the preparations.  She just plods along not appearing to do anything but everything is always ready on time.  There are mince pies and other goodies in the kitchen, cards are arriving, decorations are going up (understated ones) and I am hacked off that she has put some new fairy lights at the top of the windows where I can’t get at them for the life of me.  Before long the phone will start ringing with far flung friends and relatives getting in touch for a seasonal chat which always puts Staff in a good mood.  She will go out and buy us a present – it’s bound to be a toy mouse but one can never have too many of those.

Living in the north of Scotland means that a White Christmas is always a strong possibility which makes the day extra special.  The snowflakes twirling gently down, carols on the radio, logs on the fire, Staff on the sherry and the aroma of roasting turkey. Perfect.

Thinking of turkey makes my mouth water so I’ll sign off soon and go and grab a snack.  All that remains is for me to extend my compliments of the season to each and every one of you – unless you are a Box Man in which case I hope you have a power cut so you will have no lights or TV and your festive meal will be baked beans cooked on a camping stove.

Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year.

Your friend and Scottish correspondent,

Squirt.

You can read the review I wrote of Reservoir Cats here: 

And my interview with Squirt

 

 

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