My poor garden is suffering badly at the moment. A series of difficulties - personal physical problems mainly - has led to infestations of couch grass, crab grass and scale just about everywhere. As a result I'm finding it rather depressing just at a time when I need uplifting. But there are still a few delights among the misery.
With the cooler nights the roses have begun their Autumn flush of flowers. Because a number came from my parents' house when they moved I don't know all the names but they range in colour from rich, dark reds through pinks, apricots and yellows to whites.
On the family room table I have a vase of crimson roses - Papa Meilland, Mr Lincoln and another that came from my parents' house. They are gloriously fragrant, filling the whole area with their perfume. They have been under constant assault by Angus cat, who, I have just realised, had never seen flowers in a vase close up before. He's usually a quick learner - no doubt how he survived his traumatic early life - and learned not to put so much as a paw on a table in his first couple of weeks in the house. But the roses fascinate him. He started by sitting on a chair, eyes fixed, until he couldn't stand it. He made a rush across the table, batting with his paws until a blossom fell out then he grabbed it in his mouth and carried it off. It was about when he reached the floor that the thorns started to dig in and he dropped it and ran off. This happened a few times. Now he's wiser but still can't resist creeping up on them at least as far as the table edge.
Jaz, of course, finds the whole thing disturbing and barks furiously.
"Will someone come, please. The cat's being very bad. Please come."
Unfortunately she disapproves of so many of the cat's activities - looking at her, sitting on the arm of the sofa, walking across my bed, going into the bathroom, lying on the living room window sill, lying under a chair, to mention only a few - she's more likely to be in trouble for barking than praised even if the end result is Angus also in trouble.
I'm truly delighted at the progress Angus has made. It's hard to believe that it's only nine months since he was a terrified little scrap of a kitten, frightened of literally everything. Now he's happy, confident and affectionate within the family although sudden noises and strangers still send him running for cover.
