If this blog is to be named after her, I feel I should introduce Crumble before I do anything else. Crumble, or Crumblechops as she is known when I am feeling affectionate, is my cat. She is known by different names when I am feeling less keen, such as when she hides in the folds of my children’s duvets so I can’t find her at night and shut her in the kitchen, or when she eats blue tits.
She is an inscrutable cat, as cats so often are. ‘Inscrutable’ is a fine word. If you don’t know what it means, picture a cat. Here’s one I made earlier.
Crumble in a good mood. Crumble in a bad mood. Crumble in a filthy mood.
So now you know who she is, I’ll introduce myself as well. I’m the one who feeds her, persists in stroking her even when she’s in the filthy mood pictured above with such clarity, and regularly defends her from threats of cat eviction, scientific experiments and drowning in Frensham Great Pond from certain other members of my family who don’t appreciate being jumped on with claws on full or having to wipe cat sick from the window sills in the morning.
I’m also a writer. Of children’s books. Which often, but not always, feature cats.
Just so you know.