A HOUSEFUL OF KITTENS

Well, maybe not a houseful. I might just be exaggerating there.

I know and I know you know that I would never exaggerate. It just isn't in my bones. I can hardly conceive of even exaggerating a little. And if you believe that then you might like to invest in this sure-fire scheme to make us all lots of money with absolutely no risk at all. Email me for further information and include all your financial details including passwords.

But getting back to kittens. It may not be a houseful but it certainly feels like it even if there are actually only four of them. They've spent the last hour in the living room while I sat watching Holby City. You'll see where they were in a moment. Except I couldn't take a photo, for obvious reasons of little Belle the tortoiseshell -oh I like that phrase "little Belle the tortoiseshell", go on, say it out loud- who was snuggled into the crook of my elbow with eyes tight shut.

So it's kitten season again. You know what that means? Well, if it's anything like last year it means my chest, arms, legs and the backs of my hands will be covered with a mass of thin red lines which looks, to anyone who doesn't know my circumstances, as if I'm into self harming. Who knows, maybe I would give it a try except I don't need to when I've got kittens to do it for me. But it's not it's caused by kitten attack, just kittens climbing up and all over me for a cuddle and drawing blood in the process. I swear that one of these days I'm going to have to have a blood transfusion.

Who would want one of these things anyway? They are a literal pain. Plus they're destructive. A year ago when I moved into my nice clean done-up house everything was perfect. Within weeks of getting kittens they'd ruined my vertical blinds, crapped on my bedroom carpet, knocked most of my small British Bird Collection figurines that I'd bought specially for the house (and, just as well, cheaply too) off mantlepieces, windowsills, and any other convenient high flat surfaces I'd put them on, destroyed the backs and fronts of a settee and armchairs with their tiny little sharp claws, do a smelly poo just as the TV programme I'm watching is coming to its climax, jump on the keyboard while you're typing and then cuddle up in your arms when you move them (which has just happened), used any wooden upright (like table legs) as a scratching post, all but demolished any wicker furnishings, knocked books, CDs, and DVDs off shelves (and there are a lot of them in this house), chewed any thin cable like those for my Ipod and Ipad, electric shavers, phones -ah, sorry, no that wasn't them, that was Fifi (see photo in the sidebar), but it if hadn't been her getting there first they'd probably have had a go.

Kittens, I must be bloody mad. Alas I have no choice as our re-homing centre isn't really suitable for them and there's only one person who can take them in and is stupid enough to do so. At least they tend not to stay very long. One of them might not even be here this time tomorrow and another may be gone by the weekend. That being the case I took a few photos while they were all together in the living room.

Just as a reminder as I'm putting them in no particular order: Belle is the tortoiseshell, Shadowcat is black, Emma is black and white, and Gerald the Ginger Kitten is ginger. Plus there's a guest appearance from Aelfric who hates to miss out on anything.

If you want to know which cats and kittens have been re-homed, check out the bottom of the page of Animal Krackers: Cats Needing Homes site -see sidebar.

Kittens, it's only because they're the cutest thing in the world and I hate cute. Really I do. And kittens.