I seem to be having a bit of a feline moment.

Perhaps it’s because lad really wants a cat.

Actually, he is desperate for any kind of four-legged friend, dog or cat. I could, maybe, even fob him off with a hamster, at a push.

A cat, however, is totally out of the question for us, for now at least.

We live on a busy road, near an even busier junction with one of the main routes out of town. Having been a cat owner myself before we moved here and knowing what it’s like, I am not willing to risk the trauma of squashed cat.

So I seem to keep producing cats in fabric instead…

Ah well.

At least they don’t eat that horrible smelly muck that comes in tins. Or poo all over the garden.

Or kill the birds. Which is a particular blessing at the moment.

I’ve had Mr Robin Redbreast following me around the garden all week as I uproot dandelions and dig over the vegetable patch.

I tried to get a better photo of him, but he is a bit flighty.

He is especially partial to woodlice and centipedes, and parks himself six inches from my feet as I dig and prod, ready to pounce on any tasty morsels (him, not me).

I would hate to be presented with his beak and feet as a little morning gift, as was the habit of one of our more bloodthirsty pet cats.

No chance of that with my fabric felines.

And as an added bonus, you can sit on these cats, instead of them sitting on you.

They don’t mind getting squashed. ♥