A Very English Odyssey

...Best we move quickly on to a proper story.   This is a tale of Potkin, who you have met before, and Posie (or Josie) who was as old as Catmethuselah when I knew him, but is much younger in this adventure.   It's a sort of coming of age road story kind of thing. 

Josephine was a sandy, longhaired tabby; not long haired like an over designed pedigree, but practically, tastefully and elegantly longhaired.   There had been a misunderstanding in his early youth and in fact he preferred to be called Jo when he was out with his pals.   Most people called him Josie, which was alright he supposed.   He lived in an Edwardian cottage in a very civilised part of England; and life was good.
Today though, he was bored.   He had eaten all his food, cleaned thoroughly between his toes, sculpted his litter into fanciful landscapes and explored behind the sofa.   He decided to wake Potkin.
Potkin, a solid, black and white London longhair had come to their new home with Richard on the same day that he and Joy had moved in.   He and Potkin were still a bit wary of each other, but when it came to mischief Potkin was definitely the expert.
“I’m bored,” said Josie.   Potkin pricked an ear and opened one amber eye.
“It just so happens I’ve been planning an adventure.
“Pack for a long journey,” advised Potkin.
Josie carefully buttered sixteen slices of bread and then layered them generously with shrimp paste.   He doubled them over, stacked them neatly corner to corner and placed them in an airtight box.   Next he looked out several tins of tuna, but they seemed inconveniently heavy and were discarded.   This left space in his box so he made more sandwiches filled with the smoked mackerel remnants left over from Richard's breakfast.   He shared out some biscuit snacks and after a little thought spread the last of the paste on them.   From the fridge he took two small bottles of pop, he folded a tablecloth and looked out their boonie sun hats and wellingtons.   The load was divided equally between two small but capacious rucksacks.
“What now?” he asked.
Through the cat flap, left down the close, across the lane and down a gentle slope to the corner, here at the busy main road they were at the limit of their territory.   They waited patiently for a gap in the traffic, crossed carefully and headed down Nutshell Lane.   It was a pretty lane, winding lazily between flint and brick cottages and lined with wild flowers and trees.    The sun was shining, a light breeze rustled the leaves, the air was fresh with country smells and they were both feeling pretty good about their adventure.   Ahead of them the lane dipped down, then climbed, twisted to left, then right.   Insects buzzed around their heads and bird twitter filled the air.   Josie chatted excitedly at Potkin until a gaudy tan bird with a crested head and black and white striped wings barred their way.   It was ramming acorns into the gaps between the cobblestones.
“Are you watching my nuts?” demanded the bird.
“We rarely concern ourselves with items so small..." (There was a short pause.) "...and vegetarian,” replied Potkin as he stalked past.   Josie scampered to catch up.   The bird watched them pass with obvious annoyance; then disinterred his stash and moved it to somewhere less public.
Further down the lane they came to a chocolate box, flint built cottage, its frontage festooned with pink dog roses.   'Rose Cottage' proclaimed a carved sign hanging in the porch where a kindly and rotund old lady in a wrap round pinny was standing before the door.
“Would you two little kitties like some milk?” she asked, popping briefly indoors and emerging with a bowl and jug.   Josie was about to decline on account of milk making him excessively regular, but Potkin plunged head first into the bowl the instant it was put down.   Fearful of being left out, or appearing rude, Josie joined in.   As they drank they were petted and cooed over.
“Very nice,” Potkin thanked her as a last drip of milk ran to the end of a whisker and fell off.   “We’ll be sure to call again on our way back.”
They departed, tails high, the lane ascending yet again.   On rounding a bend they came to a weathered and rickety wooden gate.   The duo stopped to take in the view.   Ahead, unkempt fields and blue-green woods fell away from them, stretching across a wide, sun drenched valley to a hilly horizon way in the misty distance.
“Where have the houses gone?” asked Josie
“There aren’t any.”
“I’ve never been anywhere were there weren’t houses.   What is it for?”
“It’s country,” explained Potkin.