Now look. I know that earlier today my Dad threw the tennis ball about a zillion times and I decided to end the game because I was tired. But that was then and this is now. I’ve been sitting here patiently waiting with my ball and no-one is even giving me a second glance. I know my Mum has walked past the door several times and I know she knows I’m waiting but will she come out and play? No. She’s basically treating me as though I’m not here.

My counting skills are simple, time goes from one minute, to two minutes, to lots of minutes and I’m giving her lots of minutes to realise that what she wants to do is play with me. If she doesn’t come then I’m going to have to take more direct action. I’ll just take my lovely tennis ball and put it on her lap.

Sometimes this makes her cross. She doesn’t appreciate that it’s taken me lots of minutes, effort, spit and mud to get the ball with just the right amount of juicy flavour, which makes it especially good fun to chase and bring back.

Hmmm. She’s still not coming. OK, that’s it, I’m off to make her play with me.

Oh and FYI – this doesn’t qualify as a “good” photo of me!