We were greeted on Saturday morning by the mournful rowling of Iggy, who arrived on the bed as wet as a cat can be. Further investigation proved that this dampness was more than the torrential rain we have been suffering for ever^H^H many days. Clearly, he’d been in either the fish pond or the stream, as he had muddy bits, and smelled frankly rather unpleasant. He’s not one to be dried with a towel, either, and so remained rather spiky and fragrant until he dried off naturally. He was closely followed by Mustrum who was in an identical state, so we assume they’d had one of their periodic full and frank exchanges of views, and chased each other through the stream. Mussy likes to be towelled, so we dealt with him a little more easily. Both of the miscreants slept all day – Mustrum on the shelf by Pete’s desk, and Iggy under my dressing gown on the bed. I’m pleased to report that they are now both dry and seem none the worse for their adventure.

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