Home alone

I’m back at the old homestead — the Professor has further business in Edinburgh, but I was anxious to get back. A strange, quiet place it is, with a dog shaped hole in it. Miss Kit has taken it badly: I got back to find her hiding in the attic. The Northern Gentleman rang up to debrief, and told me that it was actually Miss Kit who alerted him to the fact that something had gone seriously wrong: she was squaring up to the poor old dog’s snout in an extraordinary way and sort of shoving her, ‘you will get up!’ To absolutely no effect of course, but then he investigated further and found that really, Meg couldn’t get up, and the little cat was strongly aware of it. It does show how attuned they were. She’s obviously very upset; she’s sitting with me now on her hotspot, but she hasn’t looked at me or greeted me. I’m afraid the poor little beast is mourning her friend, companion and erstwhile nanny, and will have to work through it in her own time.

One Response to “Home alone”

  1. The German guest Says:

    Poor Meg, and poor little Mieze! Hoping she will recover soon.

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