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bellatrix says good morning ☀️

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they come out at night.

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Saturday, Saturday, Saturday ...

As ever, the weather is grey. It was grim with a vague hint of hope first thing (a teasing of sunshine that came to naught) and now very much settled into stillness and a sense of monochrome. At least the birds are busy. Chirping away and busy rifling through the undergrowth and thinking about where to pitch camp for this year’s breeding.

I only know what’s going on out there because I periodically turn around from my kitchen chair perch and have a quick peek to see if much has changed. That said, I have been completely outside and fed Fermata and Lady Clemence and watched the Robins and Blackbirds and Doves ... I went as far as the local shop for the usual kitty litter newspaper ... but, inevitably, I’m back at the kitchen table, and currently being accompanied by Captain Blackbeard’s bagpipe sounding snoring.

I used to think I’d end up spending time in the lounge. The place that is inhabited by Mr B aka Fat Boy Not So Slim. I thought I would end up reading books in there. But then, there’s no sofa in there ... hasn’t been in quite some time. Mr B did unconscionable things to the bed settee that used to reside in there, so it was tossed out and no replacement has been found. I amuse myself that anyone looking in through the window to see if this place is worth robbing would take one look through the window, note the absence of lounge furniture and TV, and decide that that was either an indicator of somewhere that wouldn’t be worth breaking into or potentially evidence that someone else had gotten in and done the place over prior to them coming to take a look.

Just took another peer over my shoulder. The kitchen window spider is currently hiding, that or she’s gained a cloak of invisibility. It must be great not to need furniture. Nice just to be able to pull some silk out of your bottom and weave a home. I feel a distinct affinity with her as her housekeeping skills are definitely on a par with my own. How wonderful to just shed your old skin, leave your old meals as ‘wall art’ and, if you fancy an extension or slightly different situation, then you can just go ahead and build it. No planning permissions needed, nobody needs to come and provide a regulation compliance certificate that says ‘Well done, you are a good citizen!’ and no family/friends to come cast a critical eye and declare whether or not you’re on trend and with the right shade of beige chosen too.

Hmmmmmm ... definitely food for thought. I really feel this whole pulling silk out of your bottom malarkey does seem like the best way to go. A shame the resident spider doesn’t hold courses, cos I’d definitely attend.

Mind you, the spider would definitely point out that being a hooman really does come with an awful lot of limitations ... she’d be the first to tell me there’s no way for me to bring about silk production for myself ... at least not without me probably ending up in A&E on a Saturday night needing to have something removed from the derriere section of my anatomy ... and I hate to clog up their system any further than it already is just because I decided to clog up my own. So ... nope ... not a plan for tonight.

Ach well, I shall now sort out some fuds for myself and sit and wait to see what the spider does next ... and if there’s any chance at all of me producing hooman silk, then you’ll be the first the know. ;-)