Some more wittering .....

I knew that as soon as the neighbours turned up with their dog that it could get interesting. It's a holiday home next door (but don't tell the locals, unless you want me to be entertaining firemen for the next few weeks. .. ! Why they (the neighbours) only come every couple of months or so is beyond me. The view here is breathtaking, well it is when it isn't white with mist, or black from the Friday night drugfest fug drifting over from the mainland. The air is pure - well except for the fug, oh and the car exhaust fumes. It is quiet and peaceful - well except for the boy racers who use the road as a practice run for Silverstone. Oh and then there's the gentle melodious cacophony of the fighter jets from RAF Valley doing flips and wheelies over the Straits! Sits down slowly, takes deep breath. Where was I? Oh yes. So when the neighbours turned up for their bi-monthly 2 day visit, I didn't mention it to Austin, I just sat back and waited!

You see he'd got used to the empty house next door, he just assumed it as part of his territory, which he'd fought hard to acquire in the first place. It was land that had been under occupation for centuries, from the time of Rameses the Egyptian Mau through Eric the Norwegian Red, right down to Big Ginge and his rebel gang of feline hoodies of the present day. The conflicts and turf wars have been bloody and sometimes prolonged. That land is of vital strategic importance for the inhabitants of Catastrofia who are involved in the much larger conflict of the War of the Eleven (now Twelve) Spitting dogs.

Austin, who in the scheme of things is David to Ginge's Goliath, had achieved a massive military coup by disguising himself as a silhouette, lulled Ginge into thinking it was his shadow, then leapt onto his fat and overindulged back and toppled him off his seat of power.

No sooner has he dealt with one foe, but he has a new enemy to contend with! What to do? Standing uninvited, on his land were two alien (and probably unsubmissive) humans and one yapping Tibetan Terrier who answers to the name of Toby! Well! I ask you! What kind of name is that? Obviously a pampered and mollycoddled pooch, used to the easy life of cordon bleu cooking and mink mufflers. They glared at each other through the slats. Austin adopted his low slung cat posture, his head very still. He crept stealthily through the undergrowth, his legs half the usual length. It would have made the SAS proud. Toby? well he has no finesse or sense of occasion. He just barked his head off and ran crying to his mummy! Round one to our side I think.