Dog Collars and Cat Collars

The realisation dawns that my dog-collar shirts are mostly in transit. I have a small stock (that is, a stock, not a stock of other shirts – ie a thing, not a collection of things) which I can use stuffed beneath other garments to simulate the bedog-collared look but that lives in the realm of somewhere-or-other at all times and shows no sign of appearing this morning to greet me.

Meanwhile, Miss Matilda is now sporting her third collar of the month. The medical ruff look a month ago which followed on from an unglamorous procedure that she asked me not to blog about, ended three weeks ago. It was replaced by a smart white number that allowed her and I to pose as twin clerics for a while. (You have to entertain yourselves during the long dark nights in Scotland – it will be better when television reaches these shores). I was concerned at the large wrap-around nature of the white collar that she was sporting, but she assured me that she was not an Evangelical. Anyway, during the gamboling around the flat that immediately preceded her trip to Cat Prison, the white collar (hers not mine) was rent asunder. She has come back from Cat Prison sporting a delicate collar made from a bit of paper and which has her name written on it. It is stapled together and looks rather fragile. My presumption was that one of the warders had made it and forced her to wear it and that she would be anxious to get it off as soon as she could. However, it survives, making me wonder whether she made it herself during an art therapy session or something.