Woke up from dreams of being the 6th Beatle that no one ever says, 'oh, he was so nearly in the Fab Four...' to find Millie nowhere to be seen. She wasn't in the Oliver Reed lounge or asleep on the wicker hammock. Concerned, I called down to the temporary groundsman, Bernay, who believes he is the human embodiment of pi,
"Have you seen Millie this morning?"
"3.14159265358979"
"Thanks"
Leaving Daisy tied up, I decided to search the grounds of Barton House in order to locate my cat. It was a fine morning, the flamingoes were up early, practising their close harmony singing and the parachutist was swaying gently in the soft breeze, preparing a simple repast of coffee and salmon on toast, which was a new diet his doctor had suggested.
In the distance the US 8th Army moved across the horizon, it's columns stretching as far as the eye could see. Wearied from battle but triumphant; Japan was defeated without bloodshed or atom bombs, but with the largest military tiddlywinks engagement man had ever seen. Tempers no doubt had been high. Thumbs were sore.
As I approached the summer house, I heard the dulcet sounds of many string instruments being plucked and moved in unison, the resulting air shimmered with a delicate balance of sounds; a careful structure that delighted and amazed in it's precision and inventiveness. Intrigued, I carefully eased the door further open and peeked in. There, beyond a table of teapots and buttered toast was Millie and a host of local cats, gently practising their newest composition, claws deftly extended to tease the most profound of sounds from their instruments.
Tiptoeing in, I sat in a chair to listen and watch, pouring a cup of tea and flicking a kibble off a slice of toast.
In the distance the sound was picked up by a US signalman and mistaken for a Japanese counter attack.
