The days since have been a specific kind of quiet I find either deeply restorative or mildly concerning depending on the hour. Mack has barely moved in three days. He is either hibernating or conducting research. He says he is conducting research.

A quiet one here. Peaceful, in the way that London occasionally manages when everyone has somewhere else to be. He has done something with the chair. I have assessed it. I have committed. I am not going to make a thing of it.

I want to begin by saying that Christmas morning was, overall, a success. The chicken was a proper one. The allocation, when it came, was adequate. It was technically adequate. Mack has declined to comment on his portion.

The Shed Protest: Duration Is Not the Point. The Point Is That We Went. Mack says we lasted twelve minutes. It was considerably longer than that and also the duration is not the point, the point is that we went. Principles were upheld.

She came back with more dog presents than cat presents. We've demanded our money back but she's having none of it. We're sleeping in the shed tonight as a protest.

Mum came back from another date earlier and threw a chicken in a bag in the oven. We said yes but no. Then it was cooked and she just gave us a wing. We think she loves us again. Bit extremely disappointed with the bagged chicken.

She started taking all the curtains down. The mouse had recovered some. George decided to take it in to calm her nerves whilst she was up the ladder. She bellowed so loud we both, and the mouse, tried to get out of the cat flap at the same time.

Five very big men came and built what I can only describe as a cage around the house. It was like a million times worse than the window cleaner. The usual wardrobe safety was out. We disappeared up to the garden at number 29 and mainly watched Mimi parading in her window for a bit.

She seemed almost excited or motivated again tonight. We've finished the bowl of Go Cat and some remains of the Aldi Fish from this morn. It wasn't nice, but these are hard times. But us cousins will be reet.

We purposely both left half empty dishes this morning. She has that square thing in her thumbs most of the evening and her head in the clouds. Vitacat Fish selection is no match and she knows it.

George has already written something. I've read it. The pigeon gets a mention. Some things don't change. For what it's worth - this is better than the other thing.

I've had a look round and I'm happy with it. The space feels right. There's room to develop a thought properly, which as Mack will confirm has not always been available to me, and I intend to use it. I have several things I've been meaning to file and couldn't, for reasons of format, and now I can, and I will.