Not much sleep for anyone last night. Police sirens up and down the roads around here; bangs from fireworks. No self respecting rat emerged from his hole! So, Arturo and I didn't do much hunting.
Instead we decided to see the sites. There were police cars and vans parked everywhere. Bright luminous jackets were lying on the pavements. Smells from burnt out bonfires and fireworks were awful. You see cats have very sensitive noses! So it wasn't pleasant!
We trotted round Trafalgar Square. The lion plinths had red paint on them. One piece of graffiti said 'The revolution is in the mind'. Arturo asked me what it meant. I told him it was some stupid human idea of intelligence.
Usually, we manage to pick up scraps of food from the bins behind the kitchens of the cafes. But not last night! Nothing to pick up, absolutely nothing. The only thing littering the streets were the dropped banners and placards.
We didn't venture as far as Piccadilly. We met an old pal of ours called Monster. He's a one eared black tom who lives behind the Ritz. He was wondering along the Charing Cross Road looking quite punch-drunk. He told us to go no further if we valued our paws. The streets, he said, were covered in broken glass. He'd jumped from one step to another but even so had cut one paw.
He came back with us to Downing Street. Fortunately, there were plenty of scraps behind the kitchen door: two half eaten game pies, a carton of custard and some whipped cream.
The three of us ate well, then Monster licked his paw. We decided we'd had enough adventure for one night. Monster went with Arturo back to No 11. There's more room there, besides it's quieter. I nipped off to the Cabinet Room. No one goes in there on a Saturday night or a Sunday morning.
Think Boy David will be back from his Brussels trip tomorrow.
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