May 18, 2019: Fickle

The front room windowsill has, for a long time, stood empty.

When Pumpkin was around, she would curl up at the end of it and sleep on her blanket, basking in the sunlight. Peppa doesn’t do that so much, preferring to sleep on the bed upstairs instead.

In fact, with her cat stand thingy by the window, if she wants to look out she’ll just sit at the top of that and watch the world go by.

Not so long ago, Carole put a tray of seeds on the windowsill.

They’re coming along nicely. Sprouting with all their hopes and dreams in tact.

Any guesses on where Peppa wants to spend all her time now?

Sometimes she’ll step over it, and sort of stand astride the seeds like the master of all. And then other times she’ll plant herself in it. And the fun thing about the compartments of the seed tray is that they are the same size as a cat’s paw. So if there are any seeds growing in there, any shoots poking out of the surface, they are mushed beneath the weight of some delightful little toe-beans.

Sometimes, Peppa is a bit like a child who hasn’t seen their parents for the whole day and so starts acting out a bit. I’ve been at work all day and Carole’s poked off to London to look at some arty farty art and be cultured. Peppa’s been home along all day with only herself for company. I know full well she’s just slept on the bed all day, but she’s decided to act out now I’m home and trash the plants, flick pens everywhere and sit on everything I want to use.

And now I am in a position to shower her with attention and affection… she’s pissed off outside.

I give up…