My neighbour's cat Miss Poppy has a new vocation.
So taken is she with the scaffolding surrounding the house (while they replace the roof), that she is now considering a career change.
This morning I looked up from the kitchen counter to see her balancing along the metal pipes like a high-wire artiste, enjoying the view whilst inspecting the quality of the work being done.
The work has been going on for so long now that I am considering leaving it up as installation art. The weather has, on the whole, been pretty good, however recent thunderous downpours have held things up, inevitable delays when working outside as they are.
Fortunately the ship hasn't sprung any leaks as we continue sailing forth into what I hope will be a horizon of delightful completeness.
Working in the midst of all the banging and sawing and bashing has been an interesting challenge, and reminds me of my writing mentor, Mrs M, during my teenage years, who used to say , 'There are no excuses for not writing'. Even putting on a new roof would not have cut it with Mrs. M. I have to say, that occasionally the very good-looking young men working on the house catch my eye ... and again, Mrs. M would have disapproved mightily of such distractions.
As for Poppy, well, she sees the tangle of scaffolding pipes and platforms as a new and exciting playground. She enjoys the thrill of the balancing act, the views from up high, and she doesn't need to worry about the noise and the dust and the construction, blissfully unaware is she.
Oh to be a cat, instead of the fretful home-owner, plagued by escalating costs (no home project, in my experience, has ever run under or even close to budget), noise, trying to work at a makeshift desk.
Are you after sympathy, you may ask? Well, you won't get any from here, and certainly none from dear departed Mrs M, who would simply say, 'Call yourself a writer? Well then, damn the roof and the handsome builders, and write!'