Sunday 15th December 2002
It's 2 o'clock in the morning before we hit the sack. Even so, we're up bright and early to see how our three have coped with their incarceration.
Good Lord; they're still talking to us. Sybil (small black rescue mog) is her usual indomitable self: no worries. Tilly (apologies: proper name is Quelazure Amontillado. Most beautiful chocolate point Siamese in the world, she assures us.) comes out to complain about breakfast, the décor, the weather, the carpet and just about everything. No change there, then.
Basil surprises us. Basil is our feral kitten fostered by Harry and Nancy. When we went round to look at their foster cats needing homes all were very cute. And there was one small tabby scrap who hid behind his water bowl and spat at everyone. Not easy to find a home for. So he ended up with us and is one of the cutest and friendliest tabbies you could ever meet - if he ever came out of his cupboard, that is. He likes us but new things, the doorbell, the hoover, heavy rain, Concorde and Toby make him dive for the cupboard and stay there until everything has gone quiet again.
So to see him sitting on the outside ledge of the pen gazing at all he surveys is a pleasant surprise. Clearly the new cattery has something going for it.
Question For You
Remember, we've just spent a week trapping and transporting cats, always making sure we have enough cat traps and cat cages in the car to cope with the workload. At the end of the week we were almost looking sort of professional with checklists and whatnot.
So when we go to pick up our own cats - usually needing the three baskets we have at home - how many baskets do you think we brought with us? That's right - none. Oops. So thanks to the cattery for loaning enough to get us home.
After we settle them in again, we're off to our friends for the first of the Xmas round of visits and drinks.
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