The most ever so elegant Feline...

You may or may not be aware of the fact that Miss Furry does rather struggle with making friends. (Ahem)...this may be because she can be dare I say it a tad bossy at times.

Obviously Miss Furry is oblivious to this and would say that all cats should always know their minds, especially with the defending of their garden's and what with the constant stream of perceived  invaders of various furry, feathery fiends this is an important job.

Well, in all fairness to the said invaders we are the cottage bang smack in the middle of the row.  We are  on the way to the daisy field one way.  (As you know Mister Marmalade favourite hide out). And  the other way leads to Swirly Squirrels Wood.  Not to mention the fact that we also  appear to be on a flight path for all incoming, outgoing feathery friend's.

Miss Furry was patrolling at length this day as she takes it very seriously you know. Not quite as serious as Mister Goat when trying to get his head through the fence but serious enough to wear her new trumpet with her beloved shiny breast plate.

Miss Furry was looking all centurion  like when who should walk past? No not Mister Marmalade he had already run the gauntlet this morning  merrily making  his way down to the daisy field. (Do you know I've never known a cat love daisies as much as the cuddly Mister Marmalade).

But the most elegant cat I and even Miss Furry had to agree  had seen. Who sauntered along miss Furry's back fence like it was perfectly acceptable to do so.

Oh dear, I Thought this is not going to go well, sure enough a rather indignant Miss Furry ran (well walked) a bit fast down to the bottom of the garden. She shouted to the elegant cat with the most deliciously white tipped nose who then looked at Miss Furry and promptly lifted her delicate chin high  and walked straight along the back fence.

 Well you could have heard a furry pin drop Miss Furry  herself was indignant to say the least.  Oh dear, oh dear I though.

You-know-who, adjusted  her shiny helmet, shuffled her shiny breast plate and with her trumpet in hand strutted down to bottom of the garden to climb the post where the rules used to flap in the wind.

I have to confess at this point I put my hand's over my eyes...