Last Of The Summer Wine

It's still balmy and clement in the garden. The sky is a little overcast, and there's a chill to the wind signalling that Autumn has arrived with all its colours and splendour, but the overall gentle warmth of summer lingers and the cats are making the most of it.

    With the final sultry days of summer holding the garden in their warm embrace, the feline four are basking in the now overgrown grass and late blooming flowers, showing no signs of wanting to spend time indoors with mum and dad, rather lounging lazily anywhere a cat shouldn't be. 

    Husband has cleaned out the two ponds and the goldfish are showing off their iridescent scales, like living precious metals darting through the lily pads. Sapphira, though still distracted by her yodelling llamas and invading alien hordes, is fascinated by the flashes of silver and gold, prevented from gorging her tiny self on the fin-some wonders by the sturdy mesh that protects them. The canaries, for once free of her scrutiny are taking the opportunity to fly and race and play, whizzing around the aviary like feathery flashes of sunlight.

    Missy is casually lapping up the warm rays whilst sipping a perfect mojito poolside. Of all the exquisite flowers in the garden she is certain that she is the most radiant bloom, sparkling in her diamante studded bathing suit and basking in the adoration of butterflies who cannot compare with the divine Party Princess in all her post hangover glory.

    Gizmo sleeps the sleep of the satisfied senior citizen, the warm air soothing his old bones. He manages to project a pathetic air that guarantees sympathy and pity of any casual observer. He remains virtually immobile until he senses the presence - like a practised Jedi - of an approaching human, bringing with them the possibility of food, whereupon he begins his song of the eternal meow, beginning in trembling my-legs-are-falling-off-for-want-of-a-plate-of-sausages tone then rising swiftly to a deafening Celine Dion impersonation that will continue at ear-drum-piercing levels until a meal is served and cuddles are dished out copiously.

    The only activity is in the person of Leonard, young, boisterous and enthusiastic in the pursuit of his many rodent nemeses. He climbs trees, stalks through grasses, clambers onto sheds and then sets off merrily on a trek through the wilds of the surrounding fields - Leonard of the jungle - in search of unsuspecting, ill-fated prey. 

    As the first leaves fall, this moment of perfect peace is like a bubble in time, away from the grim realities that plague the rest of the world. Sometimes the simplest things are the greatest blessing.