Nothing tells you that the seasons are changing quite like a cat. This is not affection. Nope. It's about stealing body heat. Not his. Mine. He gets very grumpy come time for me to get on with the day. Despite the purring and the cheek patting.

First, the final slab is done. All that remains is a little retaining wall and for the tool shed to go back where it belongs. I guess the latter will happen after the painting. Then, I have worked out how to "dress" the "divider" between mine and theirs: cacti.

I am beginning to "see" things again. This was what I saw as I sent about my usual afternoon garden business.The garden bench positioned so that it's both sunny and shady and on which I and my guests do sit. I'd never spied it from this angle. Rather pretty, I think, through the autumn rose leaves and cotoneaster berries.

Yesterday, we had the mother and father of all deluges. We get at least one of these a year. Or should. This year we've had two. One was "normal". Yesterday's wasn't. It wasn't - or isn't - because it's still raining. Usually, when these events happen in summer, they're short and sharp, bringing relief from the heat and, yes, humidity which for many is an unexpected phenomenon in our usually dry valley.

This happened while I was at the market on Saturday morning. I - and anyone - could not walk on it until Monday.Except, apparently, a bird...and my feline residents. And Mr Sparrow. The bird's footprints are just by the back door.

It's been a while since Pearli has been in a pickle. I thought those days were over. Alas. Not.She uses the Cats' Mother's house as a place to sleep. At night. But not all night. In summer, she will curl up at the top of the stairs under a "Do Not Disturb" sign. Long before dawn, she's gone. Again.