Hi Folks, it’s Carrie here. I'm filling in for Bergamot today whilst he partakes in some outdoorsy male bonding with his big brother, Basil. Something I'd not have considered possible a week ago.

True to his word, Basil arrived Monday, the 21st of November at exactly 1400 hours. Bergamot and I were in the kitchen, having a lively discussion regarding the relevance and suitability of Deerstalker hats, when we were startled by a fierce knocking at the front door.

“Who could that be?” I asked.

When I turned to look at Bergamot, I saw that his eyes had grown to twice their normal size and I suspected that he sensed a threat of some kind.

“Mmmm?” he shrugged and edged toward the back door, which stood ajar.

When I asked him where he was going he made a rather flimsy excuse, waving his paw casually, claiming that the flowers needed cataloguing and this task would surely take him the rest of the afternoon. Before he could make his escape however, a thin length of rope tumbled down from the guttering and a stern looking ginger mouse wearing a dark green beret rappelled into view, his right paw against his brow in an unwavering stiff salute. Are you kidding me? I thought. I had to work to keep a straight face..........

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The full version of this story is available in
'BERGAMOT, EARL OF GREY' VOLUME 1.

I was strolling through the garden this morning, as I do most mornings in fact, when a very strange sight caught my eye. Over yonder, under the apple tree, a very worried looking brown pigeon was pacing back and forth, head bobbing frantically, muttering something-or-other to himself.

I ambled over and called out, “Are you alright?”

He stopped pacing and turned toward me.

“Coo. Coooo?” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t speak ‘Pigeon English’, only ‘People English’. My name is Bergamot. Are you lost?”

“Cooo!” he exclaimed and withdrew a small telegram from under his wing.

“Is that for me?” I asked, reaching for the letter.

I turned it over in my paws and quickly noticed the exquisite ivory paper, the impeccable handwriting and meticulous placement of the postage stamp. I found myself uttering only one word, “Basil”.

“Cooh,” spoke the pigeon, and his expression changed from high anxiety to sincerest pity.