Gloom is in the air. Ted has deserted us for a comely 85-year-old widow on the Napier hill nearby. He is re-tiling her bathroom and we are so jealous. Ollie is fretting. He has been looking in old paint tins and climbing up Ted's ladder - searching for him (Ted has left a lot of his gear behind) He has even been out investigating the spot where Ted's car usually sits on the kerb in front of the house. The cat is in yowl mode and wants Ted back - badly. I have been looking sadly at the fresh crust on my loaf from the bread-maker. Ted always had those fresh crusts for morning tea.
But the kitchen - I have to admit it, is a masterpiece - something second only to the Sistine Chapel. Ted is the Michelangelo of kitchen painters. The ice blue of the walls gleams softly and the ceiling is pristine in its beauty. The 38 rosebud catches on the cupboards - ahhhhh. But the centre of the masterpiece, the 'piece de resistence' you might say, is the bay window. Ted has excelled himself. The beautifully matched frame, lovingly honed , flanked by freshly dry-cleaned curtains, the lightly tinted glass - all looking out on an apple tree in bloom. I have arranged orchid flowers and velvety gloxinias in the bay window and they are flanked on either side by delicate little statues.
I went back to admire the kitchen in the afternoon. I needn't have bothered. The cat had sorted it all out. If he couldn't have Ted he was going to take possession of Ted's window. A few brisk waves of tail and paws had cleared the deck of orchids and gloxinias. Potting mix spilled onto the bottom of the window and onto the the sink-top. The statues were toppled onto the benchtop beneath the window - one had broken. The cat had stretched himself from end to end of the window in the sunshine. It was a charming sight - the masterpiece was complete.
I gritted my teeth. I could have told the cat that Ted was coming back next week to paint the toilet and the bathroom but why should I. Let him fret, I say.