One Glove is Not Enough!
I knew something was wrong the moment I opened the front door and found Barnaby cowering in the corner. But what was it? The main room looked undisturbed, there was no big hole in the lawn and nothing in the kitchen seemed to have been touched. Even the cat's dishes contained left overs.
Yet Barnaby continued to cower and give me that look he is capable of when he is trying to pretend nothing untoward has happened, when in fact a great deal has, so I went upstairs.
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| The black thing in the middle is my glove! |
The bed in the office was fine, well almost fine, the rug that covers it was slightly disturbed but nothing else seemed to have been moved. So into the main room, MY room and there amid a mass of bedding, pillows that had been rearranged was one of my best gloves, the ones I use on a very cold day to keep my fingers moving.
Barnaby had followed me upstairs, but cautiously and watched from afar. Actually I wanted to laugh, as this glove is one of many things (including lots of bones) that Barnaby has buried in the bed since he came to live at the cottage. Are they a gift for me or does he just consider it a warm place. Why my bed and not the garden? Perhaps it's because I have shouted at him for digging up the garden, and so far never got very cross about finding strange things in the bed. Anyway, better to discover the glove in my bed than find it chewed and destroyed as my glasses were.
Together we returned downstairs, I replaced the glove on the radiator where it joined its partner, Barnaby relaxed and we both had a nice cup of tea.
