Pearli’s Pickles VIII

Spring is in the air.  We see it in the garden, notwithstanding the lack of rain, this winter.

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Our strelitzia plants (aka the crane or bird of paradise flower) have more flowers than in the last three years.

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The Wild Iris, too, are flowering earlier than I remember.

The end of winter stirs all sorts of things, including Monster Cat.  Why he is nosing around The Sandbag House and,  more to the point, Magic Melon and Princess Pearli, only he knows.  Technically, they should hold no interest for him, but venturing onto their turf, he is.  Mercifully, he’d not been around for a while.  The last time we saw him was in the heat of late summer after Mr J, Street Guard Dog, had trapped him in the hedge.  At the time, I called the Relevant Expert for help, hoping that, at last, Monster Cat would be dealt with.  Alas, Mr J lost interest and Monster Cat fled, but not before I took this photograph of him in the depths of the hedge.

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Perhaps Monster Cat was sufficiently put off by Mr J’s show of force because there’s been no evidence of his presence for some time.  Until Tuesday.  It was a public holiday so The Husband and the Cat’s Mother had decided to have an afternoon natter under the tree in the garden.  No sooner had we settled when we heard what sounded like World War III.  Up we leapt and headed in the direction of the fracas to discover fur flying.  Princess Pearli was defending her turf and, yes, you guessed it:  she came off second best.

So bad was it that Pearli permitted The Husband to retrieve her, after which Pearli was deposited in one of her favourite spots – soft and warm.  The same Relevant Expert was then hastily summoned to address the nasty lacerations, shock and more importantly, loss of dignity.

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Some of Princess Pearli’s war wounds: those that we could see. The Cat’s Mother keeps finding others.

Quite resilient, though, our Pearli and just a day later, was supervising some or other human activity in her realm.

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Six days on, very much recovered, if not healed, she decided that she’d see to her own lunch and tried to share it with the Cat’s Mother.  Warm mouse is not my idea of Sunday lunch, so she was rapidly removed, with her prey.

Monster Cat, however, is not the only pickle in which Pearli finds herself;  she has a poetic pursuer.  Mr Darcy has matured from an elusive kitten into a poet inspired by his surroundings.

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Mr Darcy and his inspiration.  (Photograph courtesy of the Dowager Mother)

Mr Darcy’s poetry is exquisite and, according to the Dowager Mother, influenced by “the romantic-pastoral style of Wordsworth”:

The golden corn it blows and blows
The silly thing it never knows
How hard it shall be beaten
And then it shall be eaten

Perhaps, though, this is a love that shall remain unrequited;  alas, Mr Darcy and Princess Pearli’s worlds are such that their paths are unlikely to cross.

Meanwhile, the seasons wait for no-one.  Human or feline.

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Pretty pansies to grace the veranda and our salads
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Young vine leaves adorned by diamond drops of rain in the early morning light.

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…and the sun spectacularly rises and sets every day.

© Fiona’s Favourites

 


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