Sunday, 13 December 2009
We live on a street of high Victorian terraces with fifty foot long gardens, which backs onto a similar street, so we are buffered by a huge grid of gardens for them to play in. It was tense at first: we'd been so careful about making sure their fluffy little butts stayed in, and suddenly we were opening the French windows to let them out.
We put butter on their paws, as the old wives tale tells you to, and off they went. They were cautious at first, but have been frolicking out there for a couple of hours now. Hoops hooked himself on a rose bush, so it had to go; I dug it up. (Hated it anyway, vivid peach roses. Yuk.)
And we noticed the neighbour's dog, Boa, on the fire escape, licking his lips. (Bottom left in the pictures above. Click to enlarge to see the beasts in full glory.) He's a very mellow dog, they were leaping and skipping and he was just looking on. Possibly eying them for lunch, but after a while he turned the handle on his door and went back in with nary a woof.
I grew up with outdoor cats so I'm feeling pretty relaxed about it, but still keep having visions of a missing cat poster with their picture on it. At the end of the day, they're lively and need to hunt and chase, so I think the benefit exceeds the risk.
So hopefully the only casualty today has been a broken flowerpot. Although having said that Fred has just donked her head really hard on the window. I'm looking forward to snuggling up with the tuckered out little beasts later.
PS: Have you noticed it's snowing on my blog?