Brave little woody-pot

Post posting last night, I left the front door of the house open to see if the Cat would show the least interest in the great outdoors. Well, she appeared not to, or so I thought, so I closed up the house and headed bedwards. No sign of the habitual feline duvet adornment, so I called for her through the house, looked for her high and low and found no sign. Thinking that she might well have gone outside and been shut out, I opened up and looked outside, called her and checked all around the house again. Then, not wanting her to go out if she was inside and disturbed by the search (I hope you’re following all of this) I closed up the front door again and started a methodical search, room by room, of the house for the missing moggy. No sign. Deciding then that she could only be outside, on her first foray into the dark night of the highlands, I opened up the front door again to find her on the step. She had spent a good fifteen minutes outside and seemed none the worse for her adventure; if anything fairly perky and playful for a’ that.
This evening again she mustered up the courage to go outside for a few minutes before coming back in and making it clear that she thought it was bedtime. Well, I can’t go to bed without sharing this great transition in her acclimitisation to Scotland and the new house, well, can I?
News on the goose front: the grey goose, having been evicted from under the coops, has returned to the favourite spot for laying and made another nest there with one egg on it so far. She is now seemingly settled on her nest and very opposed to the recovery of the fruits of her ovulation from her nest, so I may have to let her be and see what results. It may be another false dawn, of course, but only time will tell. If she is determined, it would be unfair to frustrate her behaviour too much.
The two black chooks are still nesting in the body of the coop, although I have my doubts about one of the birds. They make the most amazing soft clicking sounds when I lift them to check the eggs and one of them will have a little peck at me, but not to any great effect.
This evening has been spent around at a chum’s house (the one with the puffer – see previous postings) with the majority of the other basses from the choral society. Since there is an air of under-rehearsal about our singing, an extra practice was called-for. His house is amazing, having been rebuilt about twenty years ago from an abject ruin. It has superb views across Moine Mhor, the great moss at Crinan and is built of salvaged timbers from all over Argyll and beyond. It has the only bathroom I have ever seen furnished with old bank fittings, and most effective it is. The concert is a week on Saturday up in Fort Bill, so we only have one more rehearsal with the whole choir before then.

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