An autumnal cat

Despite Ottawacker Jr.'s insinuations, I do actually like autumn in Ottawa. It is so unpredictable. One day it is snowing, the next it is 20 degrees and sunnier than an evangelist's fake disposition. Or should that be a fake evangelist's disposition?

As I was sitting at the table, drumming "avoir", "être" and "aller" into the disbelieving brain of a seven-year-old ("but WHY dad, WHY?"), I glanced up to see Tui blending into the maple tree outside.

For a second, I thought she had done a Rosie. 

When we first moved into this house in 2005, we adopted a street cat, who rapidly became the love of our lives. One day, she managed to get out of the closed and locked house. At the time, we had our television set in the front room (bereft of furniture as we were), and as we settled down to a movie, we saw Rosie sitting on the windowsill. She was still there an hour later - and it was only when I went to pick her up that we realized she was actually on the outside window ledge, not the inside sill. To this day we have no idea how it happened. But it has gone into the annals of "rather boring stories that have to be told to people when they have no choice but to listen or read", along with the two dwarf raccoon catchers, getting my finger super-glued to the light switch in the kitchen and, at a subsequent date, to my todger, etc. etc.

Such are the perils of friendship with the Ottawackers.