Britain’s Royal Mail postal servcie was privatised only recently. And ever since then, they’ve been working some crazy hours. Either they’ve suddenly become all industrious, or they’re playing a never-ending game of catch-up.
On Friday evening at 8.30pm, the postman came up to Waffle Towers in semi-darkness with only a Fisher Price child’s torch and faith in the Almighty to guide his faltering steps. (There was a time, not so long ago, when you’d never see a postie after about 1 o’clock in the afternoon. How things change.)
The ’emergency ‘ delivery was a mystery box which turned out to contain Shana’s new velvet slippers.
More important, though, was the white shoe box, which Smoky soon claimed as his own.
We now know that our cat is…a size 7.
And when he’d done rustling the tissue paper the slippers were wrapped in, he turned round to look at his other recent acquisition: a Jiffy bag.
And we realised that our dear little cat is not only a size 7, but also…a wide fitting!
Oh, and see how Smoky’s muscular frame is only just contained by the sides of the box? Well, apparently there’s a name for that too, but it’s really most distasteful.
Lovely tabby markings, btw. Don’t you agree?