Cats. Who'd have'em?

Well, that was a bit of an adventure.

We have three cats, rescued from the Celia Hammond place in Lewisham. These two are the boys, Alfie and Oliver. We got these particular cats because we didn't want kittens that anyone would go for. We wanted to rehouse 'difficult' cats, cats that had been without a home for some time.

So, about a year ago, Meggie came to live with us, together with her boys, Alfie and Oliver. At that time, she was two years old, and the boys were a year old. They had been in the shelter for about nine months, having been rescued from a garden where they were living rough.

They had gentle nurturing, first in a pen, then in a bedroom, then in some of the house, then, after about ten months, we let them out. And now they're just cat food tarts. Come in to eat, and then go out again. Didn't someone tell them they were supposed to be pets?

Anyway, Meggie has been in a bit of a fight, and has a cut ear. We caught her (not without its own little adventure) and treated her with a cream, but she escaped in a bid for freedom which will, I'm sure, be made into a film one day. They're all due to go to the vet's on Saturday, so we decided yesterday to start to get them all in.

And we've just got Meggie, the last one to come in. My arm is still bleeding. Considering we feed her and all, she's pretty ungrateful, I have to say. Anyway, they're now shut in my study, so I fully expect my books to be in shreds by the morning. So if you see a man crying on the train to Charing Cross tomorrow, you'll know it's me.

Ho hum!