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
Do I only write about cats these days? It seems like it.
Just over a year ago my neighbour Carol and I rescued Izzy, a young kitten full of vim and mischief. That raised my awareness of the number of animals unceremoniously abandoned over the Christmas period. As I walked backwards and forwards from visiting Fang, I wondered if I might stumble across another needy kitten.
But it wasn’t a kitten, and it was much closer to home. In our garden, sheltering in an upturned pallet wedged between the binshed and the wall, I found an adult white and black cat.
She hissed at me.
I had found the explanation for MasterB’s reluctance to use the garden and his worried glances towards this corner in particular.
Nothing for it, I thought. I shall have to make friends with her and then move her on. That was yesterday.
Remember this boy?