Hello, it's Chloe here . . . thank you so much for being there to share my story. In fact, just between you and me, I really could do with your help.Tell me, do you think you could speak to my Mum? I know you'd do it tactfully, but she really is proving very difficult at the moment.
Let me explain.
First of all, have you met a dormouse?
If you haven't, I'll describe them to you. They're grey and furry, with big eyes, twitching noses, and they're very, very wriggly. They're also very small, not much bigger than my front paw.
How do I know? Well, I don't want to boast, but I'm becoming quite an expert on the subject.A few months ago I made a very exciting discovery, a dormouse and his family had come to live by the bonfire at the bottom of the garden. It wasn't easy to see them under all those sticks and leaves, but, if I stuck my claws into the ivy, I just about managed.
Then, joy of joys, do you know what happened? One day, after our gardener had had a particularly fierce bonfire, the dormice decided that life was getting a bit too warm for comfort . . . it was time to move house.
And guess where they went? They moved to the big herbaceous border by the lawn . . . the perfect place for me to sit on the garden seat and watch!
My Mum tells me that dormice aren't just any old field mice, but a very special kind of mouse.
She says this with a very serious expression on her face, and tells me that I have to be very, very careful as they're an endangered species.
Very, very careful my whiskers! What does she think I intend to do?
'Live and let live' is my motto . . . well, most of the time . . .
In fact, when I first learned about the dormice being endangered, I thought that what they'd appreciate would be a little, friendly nose-to-nose contact . . . just to demonstrate that another species shared the garden and was interested in their welfare. A nice-to-meet-you-mice sort of occasion.
But this is where my Mum isn't as helpful and co-operative as you'd expect her to be. True, she means well, but she can be very obtuse. Somehow, despite my best efforts at persuasion, she can't see that my intentions are wholly honourable. I'll show you what I mean . . . . whenever we visit the garden I balance on the seat and listen for the slightest rustle . . . this tells me where the dormice are, scuttling about under the plants or climbing up the stems.
My Mum gets all excited when we spot one, but the moment I lean forward to get a better view . . . well, see for yourself, there she is hauling me back with the lead in a most restrictive and demeaning fashion. It's enough to get any self-respecting cat's tail twitching, and I do hope those dormice haven't noticed . . . I'm sure they'd far rather rub noses with me than they would with her.
So, would you be so kind as to explain to my Mum that an endangered dormouse would really appreciate whisker-to-whisker contact with a very well-intentioned Bengal cat?
I'm sure she'd believe you . . .
