True grit. So far it hasn't been needed to spread over the roads and pavements in these parts.
I like cats, even love them, but sometimes cat- love can seem to go too far. This is the last paragraph (names, cat, human and geographical have been changed to avoid possible embarrassment) of one of those round-robins full of news, good and bad, which sometimes accompanies Christmas cards. It strikes me as being rather well written:
"Our seven cats became 8 in May, when we adopted Marianne, a poor stray who turned out to have bone cancer. The vet amputated the affected back leg and gave her six months to live, but she seems to be doing well and is very happy. George, one of our long standing cats, was diagnosed with pancreatitis in April and underwent extensive tests. Although he was also given a grim prognosis, we put him on a special diet immediately, removed everything possibly in the garden and he is still going strong. I always take any ill cat to our wonderful homoeopathic and conventional vet outside Cambridge for a second opinion, Even Joan has benefited from his expertise, and, like the cats, takes her pills every evening too."
I am not sure that the nearest and dearest who are staying with us this Christmas like mince pies very much. But I have nevertheless made a dozen and half and dusted them with icing sugar, because it is something I like doing. If they are not eaten at home they will make nice presents for neighbours.