The giant gentleman caller

We went out for a very nice Sunday lunch indeed yesterday. It was my first social event as a normal(ish) person instead of a whining invalid. My liver did me proud as it dealt with wine which sparkled and wine which didn't, and in two different colours what is more...

Roast meat and vegetables posed no problem, and as for the buttery sticky lemony pudding, I dealt with an enormous portion totally without fear, and generally showed it who was boss.

This was followed by a reassuring session of calorie loss by jumping up and down to a wii dance games console with small children, so I came home feeling almost righteous instead of guilty of over indulging.

We were obliged to leave Porridge behind sleeping in front of the fire, but she did not seem to mind terribly. I should have been suspicious then that she had other plans, but she looked as though butter would not have melted anywhere.

When we returned the glass in the front door bore witness to a strange visitation. Something the height of a small pony had been on its hind legs leaving mud smeared all over the glass of the front door. The traces left by the pads of its paws indicated them to be the size of small dinner plates.

It seems that Porridge had a visitor while we were out.

I can only hope that we are out next time it comes around here because I dont think I want to meet it.

Especially not in the dark...

Or on my own...