At the very beginning of the year, a stray white and black cat pitched up in our garden. Thin, and with nasty wounds on his front paws, he was taken in by Hamilton’s Cat Fund, fed, treated by the vet, named Trevor, and given lots of attention. Some of you very generously contributed to the cost of his treatment and food. You may recall how he grew healthy and happy; alert to the sound of the back door of the house opening and the possibility of another meal. In the summer, he was given the run of the garden, where he swiftly disillusioned another cat who thought he might be a bit of a pushover. He gave us a scare when he disappeared for two weeks in August. Hunting, the charity thought, and hopefully not something bigger and stronger than himself. But bears and wolves have been extinct for quite a while now in Dulwich. Continue reading
I am about to dash off to Octavia’s for some chat and to see her her mother, who is visiting. However, I had to post this first. Just look at how healthy and handsome Trevor is now.What a warm and fuzzy moment just looking at his picture.
Rain, wind and sun. We have had it all today. Though fortunately no flooding. Apparently the Thames Barrier has been put to use for the eleventh tide in a row. I thanked my lucky stars that I was working from home. MasterB, currently lying beside me on the sofa, took himself back to bed in a drawer in the divan base. As I had to turn on the light at just after ten in the morning in order to see what I was doing I was tempted to follow his example and crawl back under the quilt.
However, this evening finds me feeling things have been achieved and a few more items have been crossed off my list. Having given up my salaried job, the calls I received offering me freelance work were more than welcome. Whether it brings in enough to keep the wolf from the door remains to be seen. Friends’ reactions to my decision have ranged for congratulations and cheers, to shaking heads and forecasts of doom. Financially I admit to misgivings, but there are times when you have to take risks. I am not going to go into detail about what I am doing, but writing is going to play a bigger part in putting food on my table than it has for a while.
Do feel free to commission me!
Trevor the cat has given me pause for thought. Cat rescue certainly doesn’t pay the bills, but it is very satisfying, more satisfying than anything I have done recently. However, I can’t see myself retraining as an RSPCA officer. Continue reading
I have just had an email from Chris at the Cattery. She titled it Trevor, which I really hope isn’t going to be the cat’s name, but maybe it was just to signal his gender. I’ve been on tenterhooks all day wondering how the cat had got on at the vet’s.
Anyway, this is what she says: Continue reading
So here s/he is. His/her gender now in question, but we didn’t want to do too much invasive peering at his/her nether regions.
When I say we, I mean Chris at the Cattery. Breathe again. The white and back stray is now in safe hands, and literally in a warm bed. The sleeping rough episode is ended.
When I took breakfast out she scrambled from her hidey hole at once. I had thought she had a sore on her leg when I saw her in the gloom. In daylight it was clear she has sores on both front legs and one is making her limp. I resisted her demands for seconds and thirds and instead we had a bit of a love fest. When I went in I was a bit worried she might try to follow me, and maybe that is what happened, because having talked to Chris on the ‘phone and got the go ahead to bring her in, I couldn’t find her. I looked inside the binshed and there she was, crouching in the corner, and fortunately where I could pick her up. Which I did. She didn’t resist though she was obviously worried when I closed the door and it made a noise. The car was already open and the cat basket in place. She lifted her nose to mine and I told her she would now be properly looked after. Continue reading
Frovolous Monster’s tale of his cat continues here. Be heart warmed. And if there are any Mancunian women reading this, get a grip, a man who cares for his cat so well should not be the butt of negative comments on dating sites. I know he’s living with his parents, but get over it!
On a certain dating website I get a lot of mail from girls informing me that I’m the most miserable-sounding person on the whole site. Seriously, though, it’s nice of them to take the time. I also get lots of nice comments about my cat, with whom I’m pictured, and so it’s nice that at least one of us is popular. Thus it is about time that he got what’s due with the ballad of the three-legged, half-eared cat.
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I took the cage back tonight and had about ten minutes with Ginger. He was very zen. The best news, he has settled so well today that the cattery reckon he could go to a normal home. That should increase his chances quite a bit.
Also, being ginger and beautiful may work for him.
He was rubbing his head against Ann, despite the fact that yesterday he saw her as The Enemy, an evil human who put him in a basket and took him to the surgery.
He is eating everything put in front of him. He probably doesn’t much like being in a pen, but he is enjoying the meals service. Continue reading
If you read this blog at all regularly, you’ll know that the last couple of weeks catching a local stray who has been making a nuisance of himself, and looking a sorry state, has been high on my agenda.
So you’ll understand that last night I rewarded myself with a large glass of red wine. Ginger (his screen name) was safely delivered to the cattery where they run a small cat rescue charity on the side.
Just before eight this morning I got a call from Chris. Ginger had slept well, eaten a hearty meal, and was set for a visit to the vet. She promised I would be called later.