Saturday, 30 August 2014


Now what was I saying in the previous post about nothing worth writing about at (relative) length?

Yesterday, Andrea got a call at the shop about a stray cat not too far away. A kindly soul had been feeding it but she was going on holiday and, although her daughter would still be feeding it, she was concerned about its long term fate. Andrea mentioned this to me on the phone when asking if I had any cat food for the pregnant cat and two kittens being kept temporarily at our shop(see previous post). As it happened I had a boot full of cat and dog food from the donations bin at the local Sainsburys so I got in the car and went down to drop it off. While there I called the lady and arranged to get the cat neutered and vaccinated (first flu jab) on Tuesday, cat being accommodating enough to let me, with a view to taking it to our re-homing centre after the second flu jab three weeks hence. The cat was, reportedly, very friendly and the lady would have taken it in except her cat didn't like it much.

So, okay.

This morning I was out and about collecting a packet from the parcel office, buying cat food at Sainsburys for Carole, dropping the food off at her place on the other side of the river and then down not quite to the sea front to pay a pet shop for the litter he takes to Carole's. I got home, had a coffee and compiled the last post. 

I'd just finished it when I got a call from the lady's daughter. The cat had turned up and was covered in blood. "I'm on my way," I said.

Thankfully it wasn't as bad as I'd feared, though it definitely needed treatment at the vets and it had been in a fight. It was friendly and, by sneaking up on it from behind, got it easily into my flip-top cat carrier and rang the vets. The young woman gave me an unexpected and much appreciated donation -especially when I didn't get offered a penny from someone whose lost cat I'd returned a few days ago- of £40.

Once at the vets, Wendy gave it a good checking over. It seemed healthy enough and was quite young -only 3-4 years old. She gave it anti-biotics and Stronghold (a flea/worming treatment). It was also mostly quite placid on the table and my impression is of a quite re-homeable cat. Here it is at the vets.

All that remained was to decide what to do with it. And what, dear reader, do you think I did?

Yes, sighs deeply, you are correct. I brought it home with me and put it in a cage in my bedroom for it to settle down.

No, I'm not going to foster any more cats. Oh no. Not me. Ever again. For definite.

Meanwhile here's a photo of Squeak and Arya my latest acquisitions together.

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