...then we'll take Berlin.

Jamelia... 'What?'

In the early hours of a winter morning... Snug in a warm bed under a plump feather duvet...  The distant sounds of world waking up - chirping birds - a barking dog - a passing car - and - an unusual scraping noise coming from the other side of the bed.  I know what it is.  The scraping noise.  I hope i'm wrong.  But no.  Jamelia, the cat, has peed on Nicks jeans.  His replay jeans.  Yes.  Not his old old dirty socks... or outside in the garden.  No.  And now he is trying to cover it up with the floor boards.  I don't know what he thinks.  That the boards will give way and no-one will know that he couldn't be bothered to go out... Stuff this... It's cold outside...  And I don't see them squeezing through this tiny flap at the bottom of the door in the middle of the night at minus 3 temperatures.  Who do they think I am...

Usually when he can't be bothered to go outside, usually he chooses the bath and then scrapes the sides, in the hope that the walls will collapse and neatly cover his business - a little enamel parcel of cat pee.  Nice.

Bang!  A pair of soiled Replays fly across the room narrowly missing a totally confused and indignant cat... What?  I was trying to cover it up...  The floor boards wouldn't move... it's not my fault!  Nick and the cat are still not talking.

Cats.  What are they like.... First we'll take Manhattan and then we'll take Berlin... if he did listen to pop music it would no doubt be Leonard Cohen with Lulu our over zealous labrador singing backing...