June 6th

Flossom has appointed herself ‘Cat Flap Guardian’.

Most of her day is spent, lying under the cat flap preventing unwanted intrusions.
Dogs noses are banished with an almighty wallop from her fat furry paw, but her main concern is about keeping D. I. Zeuss outside.

“Have you got a visa”, she yelled at him through the flap, when he returned for dinner.
“You WHAT?” bellowed Zeuss.
“I’m sorry Sir, “she said officiously and with obvious pleasure,” there seems to be a mix up with your visa and I’m afraid we simply can not let you in”.

Zeuss glared at her furiously and tried to push the cat flap open with his paws; she pushed back and it remained impenetrable.
“Let me in”, he yelled, “I’m here on official detective business”.
“The Plastic Curtain”, she said smugly, “No DeFectives allowed”.

I opened the door and let the disgruntled detective in. It took a large bowl of roast chicken and a big cuddle to soothe his furry ego. “She meant DeTective”, I said, kissing him gently on his forehead as he dozed off.

 

June 7th

We had snow!
It was a real dumping.

Zeuss woke up, stretched and wandered outside for his morning ablutions and came flying back in the bedroom window almost immediately, his eyes wide open.

“What’s this?” he blared, “Who put that there?”

It was beautiful. It came fluttering down, silently covering everything in a bright white shawl.

“I bet Flossy is outside doing stuff”, said Brent,nopting her absence on the end of the bed,  “she’ll be making things happen”, he said, looking at Zeuss, who was snuggling happily into my arms.
“She’s a mover and a shaker”, he said.
Zeuss rolled his eyes and yawned, “You might want to look in the cupboard before making those assumptions” he said pressing his face against mine and starting to snore.

“Brrrmmm”, came a sleepy chirp from the cupboard.

June 8th

Brent, Flossom and me wandered out into the snow to check the horses.

Flossom insisted on being carried by Brent.

She flung her paws around his neck and glared at the dogs who were goofing around.

Nibbler saw us and slushed over to rest his nose on Brent’s arm next to Flossom who tried to push him away with her paws.

When that didn’t work, she drew a paw back and thumped him with resounding THOCK.

He started back, “OW!” he yelled, “what did you do that for?”
“Because I can”, said Flossy smugly looking over Brent’s shoulder as she was carted back to the house before she could assault anyone else.

June 9th

My Mother is back.

She rang me as I was putting the horses’ pajamas on.

She sounded remarkably perky for someone who had just endured about 150 hours of flight.

“So what’s news?” she asked as if she really expected me to be the one with all the news.

Apparently Laura, my Brother Steve’s wife, had somehow managed to get Mum premium seats right up the front of the plane, next to the alcohol cabinet, with plenty of leg space in case she should happen to slide out of her seat.

From there, I gathered, she was able to ensure the pilots headed in vaguely the right direction (questionable considering the amount of time it took her to get home) and the cabin crew were able to receive helpful hints on everything from baggage compartment organization to child handling.

In return, it appears my Mother was regularly topped up with just the right amount of food and brandy and was able to get some exercise by launching herself at regular intervals around the plane on a sort of meet and greet marathon.

“I feel so much fitter than when I left” she said.

I’m going up to New Plymouth with Mum’s sister on Wednesday and we’re taking her in to get a grease and oil change - anyone sounding this perky after enduring that amount of time in an airplane has clearly been sniffing far too much aviation fuel.

June 10th

I spent the morning whizzing around the Waimak River on a jet boat.

No, seriously- I did.

I had to photograph it from the bank and then of course I suggested; as you do; that some photographs taken from the boat itself would be a good idea.

Having bragged about my experiences crewing on a racing yacht (consisting mainly of handing out drinks to the thirsty crew, and looking the part) (I was young and ‘gorgeous’ then; it was a long time ago) and having gone on a bit about my cast iron stomach on stormy seas, I leapt into the boat eagerly, with Gary – a world champion race boat driver and his wife and co-pilot Karen (also a good friend).

We zoomed off with a flurry of white foam; it was fantastic – until I raised my camera to my face to take a photo. The weirdest thing happened; I was overcome by a mountain of nausea. I put the camera down and felt vaguely normal. I picked it up again and sure enough every time I looked through the view finder my stomach heaved. “Just try to get a photo of the back of the boat with the water” said Gary cheerfully. I raised the camera and nearly lost my breakfast. We flew around the river at speed, doing impressive sweeping turns that had me feeling sicker by the second.

Fortunately, just at the moment I was thinking we may have to call an ambulance in, Gary whizzed the boat up onto the strategically placed boat trailer.

It took me all day to recover.

Karen and I paid a quick visit to our other friend Karen (everyone is called Karen around here except me); “I’m a bit worried about Cathy” said ‘Boating Karen’; “she’s been a bit subdued since being in the boat”. The other Karen took one look at my green face and had this to say, “Gary wear his speedos did he?”

I’m off to New Plymouth tomorrow, in a plane, oh joy, the excitement, and the nausea never ends.