Day Ninety Eight

Festis 

Everybody had a little sleep in today, because it is Sunday.

Craig, as is his habit, had a bigger one. 

While it was not very cold this morning, it was cold enough for us to bundle up when we went on patrol. 

We naturally stopped by Eddy’s for their breakfast special. 

We get a discount if we get there before the morning brunch invasion. 

When we left the house we noticed that the Christmas tree was in the front yard.

And we had not even noticed that it was no longer in the living room. 

So Christmas has officially come to an end, well until next year fortunately. 

When we returned the house was sparkling. It was obviously house cleaning Sunday. 

Which we missed once again. 

But we did notice we now have a brand new bed, bowls, leash and two toys for Miss Pancake. 

Last night Niamh and Miss Tarryn went to several stores to complete their list of welcoming necessities. 

The excitement is building. 

Even the sanguine Dugal is excited. Though he denies it, and dismisses it as just another dog. 

Before his father died Dugal had his own tribe of deer hounds just flopping around Breachacha.

I think that is where Cousin Morag’s herd originated. 

They did not accompany him when the family relocated to Dhùn Stadhainis, when his mother so disastrously remarried. 

He never got over losing his dogs. 

And he immediately entered Sandhurst in response. 

But we have learnt not to delve into that family’s history too closely. 

We are not the Daily Mail. 

Anyway Miss Poppy’s favourite corner of the kitchen is now a very inviting spot for our new Miss. 

After lunchtime Miss Tarryn and Miss Lily came for a Sunday visit.

 So they were here to help Zita and Niamh put up a slew of pictures that had been rather languishing in the basement. 

And Niamh found a box of Craig’s old photographs. And is going to put her favourites in frames. 

But when they started to ask our opinions of what should go where, we immediately excused ourselves and went on our afternoon patrol.

Multi talented though we may be, interior design is not one of our strengths. 

Just ask Cousin Morag, who claims she has spent years repairing and disguising years of our family’s design crimes. 

Or so she insists. 

But I admit a regimental mess may not be the appropriate theme for the entire domicile. Such is life.

And Furrgus’s idea of the recreation of Boodles was not universally applauded shall we say. 

I am afraid we sometimes test Morag’s commitment to family solidarity. 

The stroll along Bank Street was lovely this afternoon.

And the muffins at Bridgehead had just come out of the oven. 

So that led to a quite relaxing looking out the front windows. 

After guessing that the art gallery had been completed we decided to venture home. 

But they were still considering the which and wheres of an increasingly large collection of pictures.

We went in anyway. 

Fortunately they were so immersed in their problem that they never once asked for our opinion. Thank goodness. 

In truth I do not think that they noticed our return they were so focused. 

They had been far too busy to make a dinner, so Niamh went and got a whole barbecued chicken.

So everyone stopped arranging and rearranging pictures and momentarily ceased, while they had dinner.

When they finished Miss Emily appeared for a visit. 

So it looks as if the dining and living rooms will be unavailable for our continuing poker game. 

So we broke out the Times crossword instead.