Business as usual

The grey sky had returned when I drew the curtains this morning and the temperature was above freezing-point for the first time in ages. Melting ice and snow produced strange noises.

I saw a buzzard circling very low, carefully scanning the hillside behind the house. He was only about 50 yards away. By the time I found the camera, he was floating away up towards the top of the Horns valley. I noticed another buzzard in the distance above trees in the Golden Valley, surrounded by crows who were bombing it to try and drive it away, successfully in the end; too far for my 50mm to catch.

I suppose the melt allows the exposure of any dead animals caught in the snow, so the carrion feeders were possibly looking forward to a good meal for a change. Helena went to feed our neighbour's three cats last night. I wondered why she took so long, but she gallantly had tidied up the remains of a large dead bird they had brought in to eat (or not probably), which were scattered around Jacqueline's house. Bomble was friendly with them when they first arrived as kittens, but now they are all rivals for territory, though kittenish behaviour does occasionally break out on a good day.

Our other neighbours had two cats, who were always reserved and treated as nearly non-domestic. One of them used to live in our shed at the bottom of the garden for some years, waiting for mice I think. Sadly, only Starling has survived. As I am writing, I have now been invaded by Bomble, who is purring after a little squeak of his communication, as he jumped up on my desk, while Blue Monday by New Order is playing from iTunes, rather fittingly.

A short while ago Bomble was sitting on his 'oil-rig' beside the dining-room table, a purpose-built platform for cats, which he loves to sit on at a height to overlord everything. While I was making coffee and Helena was eating her breakfast, Helena noticed Starling, standing on his hind legs to examine the state-of-play outside on our balcony, before he jumped up outside the rear patio doors, looking very wary. He had smelt the uneaten cat-food Helena had put out in a bowl for all-comers, as Bomble had as usual disdained the rather expensive Sheba we have stupidly been giving him.

Starling had no complaints about it. He stopped with his right paw (with its lovely white toes) beside the bowl, stayed stock still to see what was happening, then with the minimum of movement leaned into the bowl and scoffed the remnants.

Bomble only noticed Starling as he started eating. Suddenly the weird caterwaul of a put-out pussy rose from his tiny frame, wholly ignored by Starling, possibly because the double-glazing was in the way. But this was typical Bomble behaviour, that of a Woos, as Helena noted, as he had no intention of going outside in the wet and cold to confront Starling. Territory definitely ended at the double-glazing today. Meanwhile, after polishing the dregs off, Starling wandered off down the steps and Bomble stopped his moaning. What we find interesting are the wholly different tones and sounds which cats express when they are with other cats, rather than with humans; they seem to to have learnt a completely different language for us stooges to do their will.

Oooh, I have just seen the buzzard outside my window again, although Bomble didn't, even though he is now on the windowsill looking down on his domain. That is because we have one of Jacqueline's cats patrolling our garden and another in here own. It must be ameliorating, as the cats can now be bothered to go outside to 'hunt' and exterminate the still starving birds. Oh dear, business as usual on a Monday morning.