The wind and the rain

I love the wind and the rain. When I pretend that I'd love to have a job out in the open instead of cooped up indoors all day it makes me bloody glad I don't.

Very harsh, driving rain though. A worry, for home owners such as myself. There's a minor hole in my roof that I still haven't got fixed, but from my vantage point down here in the kitchen it doesn't appear to be leaking. The scaffolding in the back garden is wobbling alarmingly, but I've shut the kitchen blind, so that's all right too.

But not everyone is tucked up in the dry today.

Across the road there lives this guy. He has a very attractive girl friend. I mean, really attractive. Smoking hot looking. She likes wearing slinky low cut numbers and totters about on high heels. Bet she has a good personality too.

Anyway, back to this chap. I hate him. Not sure why. One of those irrational things, like wanting to slap Jimmy Carr a bit even though he makes me laugh. Oh, and this guy has this little black and white cat. Spends most of it's life sitting on the doorstep waiting to be let in.
Well this poor thing spent all of last night's Noah's Flood Part Deux mioawing it's little heart out to be let in (which does explain why I spent a half hour feverishly checking every room for next door's cat being shut in again).

After spending the whole night in our warm beds a self righteous small crowd gathered around this poor scrap of life in the morning. The RSPCA were muttered in hushed tones, lots of banging on the front door, though the consensus, reached by the mail on the doormat, was that they were away for the weekend. After everyone sorted their excuses out - I've got a dog, I'm off out - one of the neighbours hit upon the perfect solution: makeshift shelter in the front yard! Cue lots of donations of any old crap people had lying around they couldn't be bothered taking to the tip and bingo! One perfectly viable, albeit slightly damp and breezy makeshift cat shelter. Bit like all the cars in the street, only less watertight...

Everyone felt good with the cat tucked up inside with some dog food (hoping for some serious cross species action next full moon with this) and then the cat resumed it's seat on the doorstep. Sod it appeared to be the general consensus and then everyone sodded off. I went back to my desk and watched the cat while I tried to think up a better excuse.

It can't have been more than thirty seconds after the crowd dispersed that the front door was opening and there was stoned guy! He must have been stoned, surely. Why else would someone so white and skinny open the front door dressed only in y-fronts? But at least the cat was saved! Dry and warm at last.

So I can stop thinking up reasons for not inviting the damp cat into my house, and I also get all the the pleasant afternoon entertainment of watching stoned guy open the front door to a succession of callers, each time getting more confused at finding someone has built a little house on his front door step.