Cat in my hat

Come springtime, fashion - and all those who worship at its altar - turn to hats. Hats are the make or break factor in any races outfit, and it seems they are also the latest in bed wear. At least, according to Miss Molly, who won't be seen lounging on my bed without this stiff cream net number.

Simplicity is all the rage this year, says this fashion forecast, and Miss Molly has customised last year's hat appropriately. Gone are the fussy pink and black spotted feathers of last season. They were ripped out of the hatband and devoured like the inanimate-reminiscent-of-bird-prey/fashion faux pax that they were. Feathers are to be replaced by brooches or gemstones, apparently. This might explain the accruing collection of dead cockroaches in the house that kitten inspects frequently, turning them over with her paw before rejecting them for small flaws like scratches and crushed shells. If you were to look closely, they have a certain shine and brooch-like shape to them. If nothing else, the legs would probably adhere quite well to the stiff net of the hat like cicada shells on a tree. A little has been done to making the hat smaller and more structured than it was, in the way of some artful claw-work. There is definitely less hat than there used to be. Kitten hasn't quite gotten to re-colouring the hat yet, but luckily for her cream has been tipped as an elegant option this year.

It may not be her finest piece yet, but at least she will trump Dr. Seuss's Cat in the Hat, with his Where's Wally colour theme and penchant for the ridiculous. Not that I'm one of those pushy and competitive (kitten) stage-mothers, but between you and me, I imagine the Cat would probably grin less if he knew exactly how outdated his oversized and multicoloured headpiece would be amongst the pillboxes and bejewelled headbands at this years Fashion on the Field contest.

The 'Magic Garden' killer

Over the weekend, another potted herb plant passed away under my (apparently negligent) care.

My green thumb only seems to operate sporadically, at best. By seem freak of chance the mint is plentiful and the rosemary is thriving, the chives continue to shoot skyward and the cat grass is well attended by the kitten (what other marker of success could there be for cat grass?). Yet the basil (who up until death received as much attention as all the other plants, I'll have you know I spread my negligence equally) rather suddenly shrivelled up and died.

I'm yet to try to grow flowers, unless you count a brief love affair with the science experiment-cum-educational toy, 'Magic Garden,' as a child [For all of you who just squealed/wet yourselves with nostalgic delight, you can relive the cherry blossom glory. Magic Garden is still around! You can buy it on the internet, here, and I'm guessing also at any kid-oriented science store].

Magic Garden was the ultimate in kitsch for the nineties child . You mixed water with crystals and poured the liquid over a cardboard tree, and a couple of hours later the cardboard branches would 'flower' (some brightly coloured powdery substance that clung to the branches, apparently non-toxic) and you would have a miniature cherry tree. All together kids, in hushed and reverent tones: 'Science'. Simple, you would think. Not for this Godzilla. I went storming in with my fat kiddy fingers and prodded the thing, and all the flowers fell off and disintegrated.

But I digress. This latest lamentable loss - what will lasagna or homemade pesto be without basil! - makes me think that now is not the time to upgrade to flower growing. I'm not sure where this potted philosophy stems from, but I've always thought that responsibility is best taken on in stages. The logic goes something like this...if I can keep pot plants alive, then I can have a pet. If I haven't killed the kitten in the next decade, then I might be an okay human-mother too. Flowering plants seem the next step up from pot plants. Unfortunately I seem to have gotten a little ahead of myself, having adopted a kitten when I am still not sure how it is that I am doing in the herbs. Watch out, pussycat.

Fortunately, my neighbours seem rather more adept at the whole gardening bit so you and I can get our flower fix this Spring by taking a peek at other people's blooming success (with not a trace of bitterness or garden envy)...

An entire wall of orange flowers. Rather greedy really. They've probably taken up the entire allowance of flowers per postcode. Clearly the reason that my plants are dying.

A bit flirty really, a splash of colour peeking over the fence. I bet they are hiding all of their best blooms on the inside.

One in three.

Hello, Spring!

Nothing says September 1 like the first blooms unfurling on stark branches in front of a clear blue sky.