First the wedding. Old Baldy was not officiating, but turned up anyway because he does that sort of thing from time to time as it makes him feel needed. But he did let me know one was happening. I know that I should keep an eye on things and that I should pay attention to the calling of marriage banns, but sometimes a girl just has to have a lie-in in the mornings and cannot always make the Sunday service. (Of course I do say my prayers as I snuggle into my furry box, praying for such things as the welfare of all rodents and that the tom cat who lives at the top of our garden will shove off [more about that later]. But sometimes the call of the quilt is just too strong).

Anyway – the wedding. I was in prime position as I managed to sneak in through the vestry before the guests arrived, getting in the way of Chris (the verger) and making sure that all was in order. As the church filled up I introduced myself to the guests and shared out my loose hairs with all those with long frocks. They didn’t seem to mind as I gave them that cute, kittenish look that I do so well, remembering to purr with just the right amount of volume.

The photographer arrived and took a few snaps of me, although I doubt that they will make it into the wedding album.

And then the bride arrived. She was preceded by several bridesmaids who walked very nicely in front of her. Then she came through, and I was nearly swept aside by her beautiful train. Then came my turn, and I followed the bride up the aisle, skipping around her at the top to make sure that I had a good view of all things nuptial.

Of course, my presence was announced during the brief notices before the service, although, as it is my home church I’m not sure that I should have been regarded as an uninvited guest. I’ll have to work on that one.

But all went well, and I have even heard talk of being provided with a ribbon to wear for the next event although I’m not sure that I could keep it on.

Well, the following day I attended a baptism of a cute little baby called Rose. All through the service I made myself available for stroking and cuddling, as one does, and sat still to some extent during the most important parts.

For some reason though, I was not invited to the curry lunch which followed the service. I always seem to be excluded from most meals for some reason, but this past week was the exception as there happened to be a deanery supper held here at the Rectory. Oh Joy! People coming and going with plates of food; different laps on which to perch; and the inevitable cuddles from closet cat-lovers. It was an evening to remember. Of course the other two feline residents of the establishment were nowhere to be seen as they shun strange company – not that I’m saying that the members of the deanery are strange but, although, no, I’m saying too much…perhaps I should quit while I’m ahead.

Changing the subject completely, there was a bit of a to-do the other Sunday morning after the 8 a.m. communion. The folically-challenged Rector and his good lady were just returning home when they heard alarmed cat cries coming from a tree. This was one of the large conifers in the front garden. On investigation it appeared that my sister, Grace, was way up the tree and unable to get down. Well, the next thing I know is that said priest is up a ladder, with a sleepy Wessex water employee holding the base, and he is wrestling with Grace who, although stuck, is so daft and to not recognise a rescue attempt when she sees one.

Poor old reverend had scratches all over his hands and actually became quite cross when Grace tried to climb higher – daft cat, she gives a bad name to the species. Anyway, all was well within a few minutes.

It seems that she had a tussle with a neighbouring tom cat (not that kind of tussle) and affected the only kind of escape that she could think of.

She was a little shaky for a few days but seems to have calmed down now, although I still think she’s daft.

Is that the door bell? Visitors perhaps? I must be off.