You Know It's Getter Cold When...

...you find yourself surrounded by cats, covered in cats, cats blocking the heat emanating from the fire in the living room and cats appearing from behind sofas with their heads boiling because they've been squashed up against radiators.

'I've never had a cat sit on me,' says Mrs Miggins. 'And if I did, I'd get it with my beak pronto.'
'I'm sure you would,' I say.
'I'd like to see you try,' says Pandora Kitten.
'Don't tempt me,' says Miggins.
'Girls, girls,' I say, because I am ploughing on earnestly with my 'JUST DO IT!' list and, having completed my homework and finished the final, final, FINAL draft of NKJ, am now trying to push on with the preparation of a cunning chart that will show the sequence of a reflexology treatment in the right order in such a way that I shall remember it and not get my elbow mixed up with my a*se. We're up to 'shoulders and axillary lymphatics' at the moment. I have the loudest shoulder reflexes in the class - they sound like a heffalump tromping over gravel when my foot buddy squeezes them, and I'm not surprised given how much time I've spent writing these last few weeks. We're only up to part 13; there's another 27 parts to go. I need a chart. I need peace and quiet in which to contruct said chart.

'So, did you see Jupiter last night?' says Mrs Miggins.
'I didn't,' I say, 'but Andy assures me it was most lovely. Very close to Earth at the moment, so I believe.'
'Indeed,' says Miggins. 'And you can see Uranus to the left if you look closely.'

This is true, and not, as some might believe an attempt at a silly school-boy joke. Last night was very cold, which was good because it meant the sky was extremely clear which meant that Andy went to the loft to bring out his telescope for a spot of star-gazing.

You also know it's getting cold when the bees stop flying. I've discovered that if the temperature outside is less than about 10 degrees celsius, then it's unlikely the bees will come out to play. They came out a couple of times at the weekend, but only when the sun was full on the top of the hive. Occasionally I squat down next to the hive and press my ear to the wood just so I can re-assure myself I can hear gentle humming coming from within. It's a good sound to hear, especially after all the aggravation we've had this year vis a vis bee-keeping. And the plan this weekend is that, provided the forecast is for dry and warmish, we'll nip into the hive for a final visit, attach the mouseguard, pop on a feed and leave them to it for the Winter.

And you know it's getting cold when you buy some lovely soft fluffy wool with which to knit a bunny for your grand-daughter, you knit the bunny parts and then, you don't know why, you slide your toes into the empty bunny shell and think 'Hmmmm...this would make good socks.' And you suddenly become very keen on having a go at making proper socks - not the practical, outdoorsy type, but the ones you'd save for wearing indoors on a cold, chilly day when your frozen toes deserve nothing less than to sink into something really warm and soft...

'Like chicken feathers,' says Pandora Kitten.
'Or cat fur,' says Mrs Miggins.

But one of the best things about it getting cold is having toasted sandwiches for lunch! Over the warmer months, you tend to forget about toasted sandwiches. But then a time happens in October when you make yourself a sandwich and you look at it, and the Toasted Sandwich Fairy (who has been in hibernation since April) whispers in your ear, 'Pop it into the sandwich press,' and you say, 'That's a jolly good idea,' and you do and you're glad you can hear the voices of the Fairies in your poor, frozen little head.