Way-aye, Roscoe here.
Today I’m in Bertie’s old run. I’ve been here since Thursday morning, when the man came to do the walls again. On Tuesday Mam put me into Biggles’ run, and put Biggles in with Neville, when she brought us in from the garden. She told me off for fighting with Neville.
I wasn’t fighting with him, I was just telling him to get out of the tent because I wanted it. He was fighting me because he didn’t want to move. He always does this. Every time I’m wanting to sit somewhere in particular, he’s there, hogging it. I’m fed up with it. So I don’t know why Mam blames me. Anyway, she put me in the run on my own, and actually, I quite like it.
I do sometimes miss cuddling up to Nev. I lay beside his run the other day, thinking he might come and chat, but he went to the other end. I don’t know why he doesn’t want to chat. Same reason he didn’t want to move, I suppose.
He’ll come around to my way of thinking in the end, and then he’ll want to sit beside me all the time. Then Mam will see we want to be together, and we’ll probably change runs again.
Mam’s thinking of changing the runs because she likes the new wall and doesn’t want to hide it any more. I like the new wall too. It’s a lovely blue colour.
Instead of the way Biggles’ old run was, she says she could make a three-panel run in line with the four panel one, stretching right along the room, and then either have the two shelves as an L shape, or put one of them somewhere else. She says it will be less crowded when the desk is finally put back together.
She’s thinking about changing the door as well.
That’s our Mam. Always thinking.
I think I’ll chat to you next week. We’ll be out of mourning for Bertie then. This is the seventh week since he died. It’s a long time. But it doesn’t seem long at all, too. Time is funny, but other people have said that on here, too.
See you next time