A crop and a cat at The Trad Pad

The backyard Lemon Tree is cropping. This is the first.

With the addition of a little mint, some sweetener and water, this emerged.

This white painted basket with its cheerful gingham liner sits on the floor beside my desk. It is waiting to find a home or a function that is not yet clear. There are a number of cat baskets at The Trad Pad - large, commodious and warmly lined. Yet, in yesterday's cold, Rose the SpartaCat decided to curl up in this. One could never have imagined that he would fit - but fit he did. Perhaps - in spite of this basket being lined only with a simple cotton fabic - it was warm because he could curl himself up tightly into the nearest resemblance of a ball that a large, fat, contented cat can manage.

And this morning, he went nuts. In the pre-dawn dark, as I am sitting in the next room at my computer he is rampant in this chest of drawers in the midst of refurbishment. In, out, roundabout, scratching, on the move, noisy. Mad cat, Rose! Are you training for cheezburger?