Cat amonst the pigeons.

In David and Eds absense, Scout and I were lacking a man about the house. Besides, Scout needs a male role model. Its only been a couple of weeks and hes already developed a vested intrest in bottles of nail varnish, glasses of wine and other assorted female related odds and ends.
Anyway, I digress. Here is a big angry blokey fighting machine that I conjoured up in my living-room this week to scare the spiders away.





Researching Bears has made me sad. The conflict between them and man is bizarre. The results of when they cross paths is all to often unplesent. Persecuted and yet so adored and admired. The relationships pretty volatile, but I guess if it wasnt I wouldnt be so interested in painting them.

Today at work a crazed pigeon set up camp in the sweaters. It soon transpired that it had a big old hold in its chest which it then preceeded to pick at with its beak and then drop bits all over the floor. Few things has disgusted me more than having to clear an inch long bit of flesh covered bone that afore mentioned crazed pigeon had picked out of itself, off the floor. Past roast chickens have taught me it was more than likely its breastbone. Nor have I been as impressed as when said pigeon spent the next 3 hrs flying around the store crapping everywhere. I know animals have higher pain thresholds that us weak old humans, but still, it desurves a poultry high five for stamina.
After 4 hrs of the RSPCA not turning up we managed to shoo it out of the door anyway. Its probably pecking its own lungs out somwehere over Bristol right now.

So much for a lazy sunday afternoon.

xxx