I have recently been pondering the persistent fallacy that character traits are innate, whereas in fact experiential observation suggests that they can be drastically altered by social interaction, particularly that transcending the so-called species barrier.

Or in other words, I used to stay in bed for as long as possible in the mornings, but now that I find myself sharing it, we’re up at dawn manically chasing one another up and down the stairs. Mind you, it could also have something to do with the fact that my bed doesn’t seem quite as spacious as before…

… more that she fills up the little draughty gap between me and the edge of the bed.




Anyway, she’s demonstrably more stupid than I am.

It may be that no other dog will ever admit it. It may be that I will be perpetually ostracized from caninekind. So be it. I am a brave and fearless dog and I will no longer be fettered by society’s outdated conventions. I will come out and say it. I only ever chased cats in the hope that they would become my friends. And now one has. My life has been transformed, my middle-aged zeitgeist has been rejuvenated and my chauvinistic species and gender 4e55555555=- (that was her, walking across the keyboard) blinkers have been thrown away. I am Ellie’s big brother, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

We’ve got it sorted, Ellie and I. She gets up on the kitchen worktop, knocks the cakes onto the floor, licks off the cream and leaves the solid stuff for me. We got through three this evening before the Mum came through to investigate. Who says cats are the enemy?