Face down in the litter tray

 I’m tired today. 

It’s all due to the Queen and an unfortunate encounter with weaver the psycho cat .in the middle of the night.

The Queen ( Gawd Bless her) has spent the last five years staring up the lane into the village from my spare bedroom window. The lifesize cut out was a gift from my friend Jane which she presented to me at Manchester Airport before we left for Barcelona .

She’s a talking point, and I find her presence amusing.

I’m also rather fond of the old gal .

Around three am this morning Mary and Weaver had a spat . The yowling woke me and I got up to find Mary cornered helplessly by the airing cupboard after a crafty old lady pee on the bathroom shower mat I was in no mood for silliness so I gabbed a pair of damp underpants from the radiator and threw them at Weaver who stalked angrily into the spare room 

Here she had a tantrum 

I’d just got back into bed when an unholy crash thundered filled the night

Weaver had knocked the Queen from her window seat complete with the large wooden box which I’d used to prop her up with. 

The Queen , now lay helplessly,  face down in the cats’ litter tray

Leaving her felt strangely treasonable especially as her face was smeared with the end product of a can of whisker’s chicken bits .

I searched the bathroom for a packet of wet wipes and finding none proceeded to dampen toilet paper with soap and warm water

It all felt suddenly very surreal, as I wiped my former monarch’s cheeks clear of cat poo in the wee small hours of the morning

Goodnight your majesty I called out when I had finished 

God Bless