I’m sad to report the recent demise of out cat Fred, who was not quite 14 when we had to have him put down. He’d lost a third of his body weight in two months, was doubly incontinent, had lost what few marbles he’d ever had, and clearly wanted to visit his old friend Marmite at the court of Ceiling Cat.
We decided (or, rather, Crox Minima ‘persuaded’ us) that we needed a new feline companion for our fairly recent arrival, Naughtypants (Not His Real Name).
And so we followed an advert for kittehs to a house in New Orleans the Other Side of Somewhere Else, with the stated aim of getting a cat – and, explicitly, a female cat, less likely to be a piddler. Fred, for all that we loved him, was the Phantom Piddler of Old London Town, and we were looking forward to having bedding and soft furnishings that didn’t smell like a tramp’s trousers.
Well, you can imagine what happened next. We didn’t get one girl cat – but two. Here they are. We called them Tabitha Spong (the tabby) and Electra Z (the black-and-white one).
When I took them to the vet, however, I found that these adorable bundles had fleas, worms, ear-mites, eye infections – and testicles. I came home with a bag full of medicines and a nice surprise for the other Croxii. The kittehs are now called Tabby Ted and Elvis. The various infestations are now on the wane (as is my bank account – I sometimes think I should get my salary paid directly to the vet), and the kittehs – known as the ‘Li’l Guys’ – are as adorable as when we first saw them.