Ailz (who has just broken up a cat fight and has a scratch all down her leg) says "If you only knew how much your mower sounds like Pickles when Marlowe is having a go at her!"
And she's right. When I mow in short sharp bursts it sounds like "MIIIIAOW! MIIIIAOW!
I say, "Perhaps Pickles and the lawnmower were separated at birth..."
So I take a break from mowing the lawn to sweep all the black fur off the dining room carpet and Ailz reminds me that, while I'm mowing, I should be picking all the dandelion heads for Wendy to make into ointment.
I'll pick them later. There won't be many. Dandelions don't flourish here. I think its because the rabbits wolf them down as soon as they appear. I know from keeping rabbits as pets that a dandelion flower is the rabbit equivalent of pate de foie gras.
Synchronistically Wendy rings for an exchange of news. She's making up for the loss of her cleaning hours with us by taking extra shifts at the care home where she has been working weekends. That arrangement will last as long the pandemic does...
Then we'll all think again.