Sometimes there's not much to write in my diary and January is one of those times. The doors and windows are shut so there's no point in sitting on the doorstep and it's not worth climbing onto the window sill so I have no idea what's going on in the garden.
I don't mind much because my house is my domain and people-training sessions fill my days. That and bed making which is much like making scrapes so I keep my hand in ready for garden maintenance when the time comes. I can go on scrabbling with my paws and tugging my comfort blankets with my teeth for hours on end. It's very therapeutic.
Sometimes J joins in. She pulls my blanket over my head and we play Where's Harvey? Then I poke my head out and say Here I am. It gives her something to do and I quite enjoy it.
A dog came to visit the other evening and I had to stay in the kitchen. His name is Bingo. When he had gone I had to check about to see if he had been in any of my places. He had. I could smell him. He had even been on my sofa but I don't think he had any of my carrot. Afterwards I wouldn't take anything from J's hand until she had washed them thoroughly. I prefer the smell of soap to the smell of dog.
Did you forget to mention you have taken a great interest in the carpet fringe, Harve? Has it become one of your best friends?
