Its Sunday

So another Sunday at Hall Towers grinds its weary way towards Monday.
Having given the maid the morning off Mrs H was in charge of brunch while I prepared myself for the Newcastle v Sunderland Derby match on the TV-a-bob. A small glitch, in the shape of a mouse which got to the bread before we did meant that we had to have breakfast burritos instead of toast and scrambled egg. However, I think they were a testament to Mrs H's fine culinary skills and in no way detracted from my enjoyment of the repast she laid before me in the TV-a-bob annex.
Having endured the football which ended honours even I repaired to my boudoir for a small nap before launching into the evening offering which was once again up to snuff.
I am beginning to wonder if we do not need to employ a third, younger cat to undertake the pursuit of Mr Mouse who has so far eluded the current incumbents in the cat positions best efforts, which, if I'm being honest are not up to much. Lying on the sofa snoring does not appear to be working as a tactic in mouse apprehension. Anyway, I have taken matters into my own hands and have laid a trap (humane, non-lethal) which has been baited with chocolate biscuit and awaits the arrival of our rodent adversary. My only fear is that as Mrs H is on chocolate sabbatical for Lent she may find out that the biscuit is there. Removing her from the trap would be a challenge.
So as the clock lumbers towards 9pm I shall finish for now and leave you hanging on for the next instalment from Hall Towers.
Night all, Pip! Pip!