A Tail of Two Cats

Greetings from home, where I am chilling out before heading off into the Yorkshire countryside for a week with Mr. F. I have to bring my wellies apparently, it remains to be seen what purpose they will fulfil, I mean I really don't fancy an au naturel photo shoot with just some factor 15 and Tesco's Finest Wellies for protection. Maybe it was a euphemism ? Only time and midgie bites will tell. (Incidentally, tonight I found out that the scientific name for midgies is culicoides impunctatus, even the Latin term sounds like an act of needless barbarity.)

Anyway, without any coercion, duress, or even trafficking of his favourite fresh prawns, after a soul searching and agonising decision making process, boy cat has decided to come "out". Well, sort of. The above picture attests a typical scene in my house, when I sit down in the evening to answer emails and scoot around the net for a bit, he will make his feelings known by jumping onto my office desk and fellating himself, he really does pick his moments. This is very deliberate, it's his way of showing that -

1. He disapproves of the manner in which I removed him from my lap, and ;

2. He can pleasure himself at any given time, without the aid of anything which vibrates, something I will never achieve. In fact there's a colloquial term for it in Glasgow, "Get it right up ye".

Those of you who have read my inane drivel as far back as that will know that I adore boy cat, I got him from a rescue centre where there was a litter comprising three big bruiser ginger boys and in the middle of it, this black and white genetic oddity. My boy is all out of alignment in that he looks like an old style Egyptian cat, he has a long face, long back and long tail, with short legs. He was also the runt of the litter and when the cage door opened he came forwards and chose me, there's no doubt about that. You may also remember that at one stage there was "girl cat", a beguiling little kitty I adopted and had for a year, to put it bluntly, she fecked off and I don't think I'm being overly harsh in saying that boy cat threw the cat equivalent of a three day warehouse rave when she left.

Following on from his accident, my vet decided to give it some time before he should have his annual booster shots, so two weeks ago we rolled up to the vets, with La Princess trying to keep boy cat calm who was meowing like he was going to the guillotine (in his travel box, and not impressed) because he knew damn well where he was going. To while away the time and pretend I really couldn't hear the attention seeking howls of my cat who was far outdoing the efforts of a cocker spaniel puppy in to have his boy bits severed, I had a look at the notice board, and there it was.

"FOUND - VERY FRIENDLY FEMALE TABBY, APPROX TWO YEARS OLD.
OWNER PLEASE OR A GOOD HOME".

I took down the number and when I arrived home, I called the number to be told -

"Oh is that ad still up ? That was about ten months ago now."

"Um, do you still have her ?"

"Well, she arrived at the workshop at the back of my house and to be honest, wouldn't leave. She was a lovely wee thing and could eat for Scotland, I mean I would put down food and she'd inhale it, not to mention the birds, voles and all sorts she brought back as "presents". She kept me company in the workshop and would sit up on top of the bonnets of the cars I was working on and chat away, like I say, she wouldn't go away but she was great company."

"When you say "was", where is she now ?"

"I found a home for her out in the country with an old lady who's not long been widowed, the two of them are the best of pals."

I FECKING KNEW IT.

I asked the gent if he had any photos of her that he could send me in email or text me, but he said that at his age it's all he could do to switch the phone on, so I had to go to his house to view the pictures. No doubt about it, it was herself, in all her glory, crashed out upon a car bonnet in the sun. So I asked if I could have the address of where she is living now and called the lady concerned. When I arrived, I could see the look of panic on the lady's face, she really thought I was going to say "THAT'S MY CAT", and whisk her away.

Rather predictably, she is the size of a small sheep, having meowed her way through enough calories to make the establishment of a niche market for "cat feeders" a real possibility. Don't snigger, I mean if you search long and hard enough you can find pretty much anything on t'internet now. The bond between the two was unmistakable, if nothing else they are united in their love of custard creams anyway.

What really made me smile was the haughty look she gave me, " ... and you are ?"

So finally, when the question came -

"Is she your cat?"

"No".

Call me a soft gobshite, but I just couldn't do it. I wish them both a long and happy life together. I'm just glad that she's OK and happy, I mean there was never going to be any danger of her starving.

(Don't tell boy cat, but I was eyeing up some new born kitties just the other day in Carlisle...)

LL xx

P.S : I'm away and doing stuff in lingerie and wellies until Thursday 12th July, catch up with you when I get back.