Miow.

A tiny little squeak as I stepped out this morning.

Miow.

Walking around the corner, I saw it. A tiny kitten, no larger than the palm of my hand, balancing on the top of a privet hedge. Big blue eyes looked at me from amid salt and pepper hair, and then it jumped up at the open window above it. It hit the glass and fell down again onto the bush, too light to fall beneath the uppermost leaves. It looked across at me again, and as I stepped over it tried again, jumping up and smacking its face on the glass, unable to understand why it could not get through.

Jess had been just the same the first time we let her out. We’d carried her down into the garden and settled her on the grass, but the moment we let go of her silky black coat she shot away, back into the house. An hour later, wondering whether she had perhaps done the wrong thing and missed out on some fun, she had run full pelt through the kitchen towards the door that led to the garden. It was glass from top to bottom.

And it was closed.

She hit the glass at full speed and bounced off, clearly confused. But then, as is the way of the cat, stalked off shaking her feet pretending it was what she’d intended all along.

So, seeing a repeat of the whole episode this morning, I crouched down at the edge of the bush until the little kitten trusted me enough to come across and I could pick her up, and knocked on the door of my downstairs neighbour. We looked at each other as we waited for the door to be answered, and had it not been for the feel of her coat on my skin I might never have known she was in my hand. She weighed no more than a box of matches.

Several feint voices later the door swung open, and there stood my neighbour. I passed him the cat and we exchanged no more than three or four words, most of which were ‘thank you’. It was the first time we had met, and the first time we had spoken, in spite of the fact I’d emailed a hello to his flatmate when I found his site on the net.

It set me wondering why it takes something like a little stranded cat for us to make the effort to meet one another in this country where everyone is suspicious of the unfamiliar face. In the five years I have lived here I’ve only known two of my neighbours, and they both moved out some time ago.

So, wondering what would be the best way to change things I set off for London. The daily theme of crap trains continued in the form of broken signals knocking out the information screens, so it was a matter of looking up times on a poster on the wall.

Perhaps it was something to do with the heat.

Anyhow, I got there on time and spent the morning sitting through a briefing in the basement of a hotel, which was a good opportunity to catch up with Jon, whom I’ve not seen in… oh, two years, I guess. His great uncle, or grandfather or something, had been the one who had designed the Army and Navy, so I filled him in on the news of it shutting down and the sticky carpet being pulled up. I wonder if they ever found any bit of it where you could still see the pattern.

That was pretty much the easiest part of the day, as it was the end of the production cycle, and all the pages had to be sent off for printing by six. As ever, that made for a hectic afternoon, at the end of which pilates was a welcome relief.

1. Back to Spain
   My plan was for today to be a serious writing day, but after a late night I woke up at some stupid time of mid-morning...
   
   
2. Water, water everywhere…
   Drifted downstairs far later than I would have liked and in the absence of any real orange juice on account of not shopping for a...
   
   
3. Productive coincidences
   I really should go on holiday more often. I have been so productive this week, and it's only Wednesday. Finished editing a section for the...