Chez IsobelandCat we find ourselves with a wealth of newsprint this week. Normally, I restrict myself to one paper at the weekend, and gradually read all the different sections during the week. On Friday, however, I bought a paper. I bought another on Saturday. The next day, I picked up a free copy of the Independent on Sunday. Add to that the five copies of the Metro I nabbed and the several copies of something in the Cyrillic alphabet my neighbour kindly brought home for me last night, and you start to get the picture.
Are you thinking “Wow, she reads Russian”? Or “Blimey she reads the Metro”? Admittedly the two feel like opposite ends of the cultural spectrum. I read neither. No, sometimes I read the Metro and then do the Sudoku puzzle. These papers are small, tabloid sized – as indeed is the IoS, not to be confused with IDS, no, no that would never do – and my newspapers of choice for lining MasterB’s indoor facility. A facility I am glad to relate he has scarcely used since the departure of Trevor. I was getting through a serious quantity of cat litter. Cat’s ashes must have been spinning in the airing cupboard. A year or longer could pass without him using the litter tray. He believed the place for toileting was the garden. He also believed a day without a fight was a day wasted, so poor Trevor would have had a sorry time if he had tried to take up residence during Cat’s reign.
I say Poor Trevor, but by all accounts he is doing well. His wounds are healing nicely, he will not need to have an operation and he has a new neighbour. More about the new neighbour shortly. Two kind people who follow this blog have made donations to the cattery to help with his vet bills and keep, so once his runny tummy problem has been sorted, he should be on the road to full recovery and rehoming. He is happy, enjoys the company, and is very sociable. He knows the sound of the back door opening means people, and in case they are bearing meals, he hurls himself into his run and yells. Trevor has his wits about him.
In contrast his new neighbour, Ditto, is depressed. Ditto has come to the cattery for rehoming. It is not that his owner doesn’t want him, but she had five cats. Four cats too many in Ditto’s view. Obviously a boy of some character, he decided the four were supernumery and made them move out of the family home and live in the garden. He must have thought his plan had worked a treat, but it has backfired horribly for him. Cattery Ann says he doesn’t look like he could dominate a milk pudding at the moment. The wind has been properly taken out of his sails. While he is doing time, maybe he’ll reflect on what went wrong. A couple have expressed interest in adopting him. They had two cats, mother and daughter, and the mother died. Let’s hope if they take Ditto on he’ll have learned his lesson and will share nicely.