Friday, 21 March 2014



You mean you were expecting me to tell you why you shouldn't stick your hand in a dog's mouth. Come on, guys. I mean, like really. Surely the answer to that has to be obvious. You know what can happen if you stick your fingers in a dog's mouth.

It's what happened to me on Wednesday.

Look, it's a mistake that anyone could make.

So next door's boxer dog has its paws up on the low wall with metal railing on top of it and it's looking at me and barking. Okay, so I don't see that much of the people on the right side of me but we are acquainted and I have had friendly encounters with the dog in the past so it's not entirely unreasonable for me to put my right hand between the railings in order to stroke the dog, despite it going wuff wuff, ruff  ruff, row row.

I didn't know it was going to rip the flesh off the middle finger of my right hand.

Only some of it. But enough of it for me to go back into my house and place some sticking plaster around the finger to stop the bleeding. And I did get a bit of a shock.

So I went back out as I was going out in the first place. This time the guy next door was there and I told him what had happened. I didn't blame the dog, just my own stupidity for sticking my fingers near the mouth of a barking dog. He thought it might be because he hadn't been there and suggested I try it again.

To quote the legendary Saaay whaaat?

But I did, tentatively, with my undamaged hand.

And it wasn't because he hadn't been there.

Wuff wuff! Row row row! Bark, bark, bark! Damn, missed.


If anyone asks me how many cats I have in my house I have to paws (sometimes I'm just so clever and funny I even amaze myself) and count on my fingers because it varies from week to week and sometimes from day to day. I've had three new arrivals since last Friday.

One is Belle, the little loveable ten week old torty kitten who gets more loveable and affectionate every day. She now sleeps cuddled up just under my chin every night and every evening curls up on my chest while I'm watching TV, often to the annoyance of black and white kitten Emma who likes to do the same. 

Tuesday afternoon and Susan phones and tells me she wants me to come round to meet someone. Well I'm not daft (though opinions vary about that) and I knew that meant she had a cat she wanted me to take. And I was right. Fortunately, Belle didn't stay in the conservatory for more than 12 hours before she was socialising (terrorising?) with the other cats.

This young cat was a bit nervous but again, within twelve hours, he was rolling over on his back when saw me and now, three days later, is about ready to join the others.

I've deliberately not described the cat and not included a photo because he was found locally and handed in at the shop. He's so pretty and photogenic, he's not going to anyone unless they can describe him. If he's not claimed by next Tuesday, I'll have him checked over at the vets and put him on the re-homing list.

Already on the re-homing list is his conservatory mate. 

Wednesday afternoon and I called in at the vet's to pick up a cat which had been spayed. While there I was asked if I could take in a kitten/cat about 5-6 months which had been handed in having been dumped over someone's garden fence (yeah sure, not heard that one before, whatev-er). As I already had kitten-cat 1 in the conservatory I said I'd take her in a couple of days or so when k-c1 would be with the others and could they spay her in the meantime. However, by the time I got home I'd changed my mind and rang them to said I'd take her tomorrow after the spaying and just hope the two cats either got on or were indifferent. Pretty much the latter as it turned out.

Me saying no and then later changing my mind after I've had time to think about is a bit of a habit of mine. I did the same thing a couple of weeks when Pets at Home rang me about a stray (see previous posts).

Sue, the receptionist at the vets, suggested I call her Shadow (she's black) which I went nrrr, nah, I don't think so. Later, after some musings on alternate names, I decided to call her Shadowcat, a one-time used code name for the X-Men's Kitty Pryde. (And if you think it's odd I should know that, try reading a few posts of my other blog which shows a very different side of me. On the other hand, maybe it's best if you don't.)

Anyway, nervous at first, after twelve hours or so (what? you expect to time these things?) she too started rolling over when she saw me and looks like being a very loveable little thing. Excuse the crap photo, she's darker and cuter than she seems and you can't tell she's got a soft coat.

Expect a new post soon as I've a busy-ish weekend ahead.

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