Rather a sad post-script to today's blog. Just as I'd finished the previous blog our young neighbour, Matthew, called in to tell us that his cat, Ping, had been run over. She was a small, bright, year old, tabby. Almost every morning she would call round about coffee time (if Matt was out at his work,as he usually was), come into the kitchen and scrounge a piece of cheese, which she loved. She never stayed more than ten minutes or so, but she was a cheerful little creature, and we shall miss her.
Goodnight all.
2 comments:
Didn't Pa C. have a little ginger dog called Ping? A Norfolk terrier or some such 1960ish, perhaps?
'Pooter suggests I shouldn't dig up such 'old-bones' with the v-word 'disterr'
Yes, he did, although it was, I think a Norwich terrier rather than a Norfolk. One's ears stand up and the other has flop ears (though I can ever remember which is which). It was a snappy, smelly, little brute. Should have been called Pong rather than Ping; and being a terrier, lived into a ripe (in every sense) old age.
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