Yesterday was a day of great excitement and great Trauma for Trotter.
Yes. Yesterday Trotter, aided by Fing, escaped into the main body of the garden, where the little treasure found a pot of terracotta maisonry paint which he promptly picked up and shook very, very vigourously, causing the lid to fly off and all the paint to come out.
By the time I got home Trotter was a lovely shade of orange and was the happiest a boy could ever be, how much fun had Trotter had?
There were orange footprints up the stairs. Orange footprints on the sofa.
There were orange footprints all over the sitting room, in my bed, all over the garden.
There were whiskery paint marks on the walls, orange paint on the cats and on Martha.
There was compost everywhere too and right in the middle of everything was an ecstatic Trotter, wagging his tail and trying to rub his little orange head against me, Martha, the furniture, a disgruntled Fing and anything else he could get his paws on.
The vet recommended that we remove the paint immediately with white spirit, but Trotter didn't like that and wriggled and wriggled so much that we had to give up the attempt.
Eventually, Martha, Shane and I had to pin him down in the bath, smother him in Fairy liquid then hose him down.
The sitting room was so slippery with wetness and paint that upon our return Shane skiddied 4 foot across the room on one leg and nearly went arse over tit onto the sofa. Luckily he maintained his balance and composure and righted himself before he fell.
And Trotter wagged his tail from the doorway.
Trotter and his Orange Feet
