Monday, 22 September 2014


Monday and, apart from taking Amy Farrah Fowler (see previous post) to the vets, a quiet day ahead.

Yeah, right.

I decided to pop up the road to Asda for a few basics. While I was out, I thought, I could always go a little further up the road to Leechmere trading estate to pick up two 30kg sacks of cheap (£7.99 a bag) but decent wood chip cat litter. Having gone that far it's only another couple of minutes in the car to Sainsburys' to empty the bin of donated dog and cat food. About forty minutes tops, I reckoned and quite correctly so as it turned out.

Just before I left the house I got a phone call. A young guy was being summarily evicted from his one-room flat this very day and made homeless. He had a cat which needed taking in. Where? I didn't have anywhere in my house. Amy Farrah Fowler had just arrived yesterday and was a proper scaredy cat. I told him to call me back in an hour. I emailed Joanna our secretary who just might have space and headed off to Asda.

Got back and Joanna had no room. I sighed deeply. And sighed again. (I didn't really, this is me being writerly.) Okay, Amy Farrah Fowler would be let loose in the bedroom and the new cat would go in the cage. I could pick him up about 11.15 with AFF and take them both to the vets. Ah, but he had an appointment about his situation at eleven. Okay, I'll come now, pick up the cat, give him a lift into town, go back for AFF. Problem solved.

I was with him in about ten minutes despite having to call at Susan's to pick up the charity's van because I can't use my courtesy car for animals (see previous post). And he'd got himself locked out and was waiting for the horrible landlord to let him back in. Horrible landlord would only be five minutes. Half an later he arrived.

In the meantime, I chatted to the young guy who seemed quite pleasant. Early to mid-twenties, quite intelligent, had rescued the cat from a disused building where he found her with her young kittens which all died and had had her for at least a year (my memory is iffy on the details and I can't remember the name he gave her. By the time the landlord turned up I was getting quite twitchy about being late for my appointment at the vets as I hate -no, I  HATE -being late for anything.

Despite all that I did manage to get to the vets on time. Both cats appeared to be in good health. AFF was assessed as being about one year old, Marcie May about three. Both got their first flu jabs and, to be on the safe side, a dose of Stronghold a flea/wormer combo. Both are now safe in my house. Amy Farrah Fowler, now loose in my house, has hidden herself away somewhere. Marcie May (to be spayed on Thursday) is in the cage and has covered herself with the blanket that came with her. Now all they need is time to settle in.

I couldn't remember where the name Marcie May came from so I looked it up on Google a couple of minutes ago. There's a film I've heard of (obviously) but never seen starring Elizabeth Olsen as the title character Martha Marcy May Marlene (2011). Now I know.

And here she is.

Post Script.

Despite emphatically stating and very loudly so several times in the recent past that I was NOT fostering any more cats, I am currently fostering three adult cats, Maisie and her three kittens.

Is there no end to this madness?

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