Dear Little Mousey Snacks - and Tomatoes

My tomato diet is going stupendously well. Soon I’ll be able to roll myself into a ball the way the Woo does. It is getting very very boring, though. Just the sight of a tomato makes me feel queasy. But I will have to break the diet tomorrow when I have my power breakfast with Michael. I don’t want him to think I am irritatingly fussy, but rather the exciting, devil-may-care, living-life-to-the-full type.
They say it will be cold and damp tomorrow so I’ve been and bought a neat little pink cashmere short-sleeved cardi and an umbrella that’s exactly the same colour, which I think will give me a charmingly fresh. Amelie sort of look. And I plan to totally encase myself in a Gok Wan body-sausage underwear thingy.
I was just planning all this when there was a knock on my flat door. So I quickly hid the kitten and answered it. It was the landlord, spouting off about people bringing mud and rubbish into the house again. He was practically in tears. Said the downstairs hall is a terrible mess, and he can’t be having it. I can’t imagine who’s reponsible. The two Japanese students upstairs are always immaculate, and I think the man downstairs is gay. He’s neat too: I once caught a glimpse of his flat and it was full of spindly, highly-polished furniture. Besides, he’s hardly ever there. So it’s sort of a mystery.
When the landlord had gone I realised there was a soggy catnip mouse and a bag of cat chocolate treats (half0-eaten) on my hall table. So I hope he just thinks I’m charmingly eccentric and into strange snacks. Like Amelie.