I have always been a cat lover since the family cat, a Russian Blue called Misty absently trotted into our Lowe family lives mid 1970s and perpetually stuck his pretty in pink tongue out at the world in his later years. Then there was Peron and Timmy, Titus and Scritchy, Itchy and Titchy and the still hanging on Henry the Eternal Kitten who now lives with my former wife and is stone deaf. The cat, not the former wife.
Regular readers of this blog will no doubt be aware of Mr Harris and Madame Soufie (my add on titles incidentally). They are daily visitors in search of extra fuss, cuddles, stroking and shockingly - food! They are not even my cats. They belong to my very nice neighbour and her house cat flap is the cat parachute to the communal path onto which they land and yowl outside my door. Or simply make pathetic cat noises.
I didn't glue them in place honest!
"I am so starving Daddy Phil!!!!"
They are so used to coming round that my kitchen floor has official status on the Moggy Ordnance Survey Maps charter. A permanent groove has been worn across the floor to their secondary bowls which house crunchy biscuits and a water bowl. Any spare money (laughs ironically) gets spent on pussy treats: slithers of lean bits of fresh lamb chops; chicken breast; lean pork chops and once in awhile delicate slithers of trimmed sardines. Silver darlings for the little darlings. Harris did puke up some bits of stomach warm sprats the other day but only because he wolfed them down far too quick.
The back of the top of the settee has a special place in the cats' hearts as it is right next to the warm radiator and puurfect for depositing incredible amounts of cat hairs for 'Daddy Phil' to collect via a liberal dabbing of masking tape. Those Darned Lovely Cats! Bless 'em.