As a child I did the pressed flower thing. My mum had an old copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica (all 24 or so volumes) which was absolutely fantastic for this purpose. There was one summer where every single letter of the alphabet had been pressed (ha!) into service squashing the local flora for me.
So, while I no longer press flowers myself, I can understand the impulse in others.
To press flowers that is.
Yesterday I was hoovering up in the downstairs hallway having come home to find a scene reminiscent of The Birds, or what The Birds would have been like if cats had been involved as well. Think explosion in a sacrificial chicken factory.
Aaaanyway. At least 50% of the feathers were on and around the large mat I have inside the back door for foot wiping. So in a rare moment of conscientiousness I actually moved the mat to hoover around and under it…
…and discovered that the cats had decided to take up the art of pressing. Fauna pressing.
Or to be exact, rear end of mouse pressing.
Oh yes, there before my eyes was the, flat as a pancake, back half of a mouse.
Now given that the back door doesn’t get used very often, and given the very flatness of the mouse half, it had to have been there for some time, for enough people to have walked over it and flattened it so well.
Ewwwww!
(Of course this happened after my post about not having anything to post about, typical)
1 day ago
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