Sunday, September 02, 2012
"He's an indoor cat" I say "At least he won't get into fights with other cats and cost a fortune in antibiotics"
I know she's right, Mum's often are...
Tall Girl and I climb into the car for a 4 hour round trip to pick him up, we are full of hope and potential love. There have been many conversations before this point, mostly with the crazy cat lady who owns the 'safe house' where he is currently residing. "I'll tell him you're coming" she says on the phone the night before - scarily I think she probably did.
We arrive dead on time with Tall Girls fine navigating skills and a sat nav; two straight lines really M4 and A34, and it was just as well they were straight roads as the silly thing stood up most of the way home, with his strangely long and gangly legs - permanently pointing at 'ten to two'- slipping about at any bends in the road.
He grumbled his way home for 2 hours, a gruff scratchy voice, much like Stinky Cat's, and I wished I could tell him everything was going to be ok, or at least that he would understand that it would be.
So here we have him, a 16 year old bag of bones covered in fluff, knotty fluff at that, with a slightly grumpy demeanor! He comes to us as a house cat and to be honest Trading Standards would have a field day with the description given by the rescue centre... Chunky they said - boney he is! Indoor cat they said - out of the back door like a shot on the first day he was! Can be chatty they said - goes off like a car alarm at intervals during the night he does.
Watch this space...
Meanwhile I am starting my new job tomorrow and having a massive crisis of confidence, where did all those weeks of school holiday vanish to?
Posted by Suburbia at Sunday, September 02, 2012