I write a lot about Dog; it’s natural. He and I are close.
Perhaps too close.
But Dog is merely the latest in a long line of family pets.
Currently we have two twin sister cats:
They are, by common consent, twenty-one years old.
And a bit dotty.
We’ve had three other cats before these two joined us.
The first, Sisyphus came on 30th November 1986. My thirtieth birthday and the day the Textiliste flew to Chicago for several weeks.
I was utterly terrified.
On day one I lost the little sprat of fur under the kitchen work units.
Day two and she headbutted a fried egg I’d cooked for myself, dying her face yellow.
He brought toads into the house, dragging them through the cat flap. Did you know toads can squeal? Bloody frightening.
They also look like cat turds when left on a brown stair carpet and you haven’t yet put on your spectacles. There is little more startling than going to clear up what you think is a heap of feline faeces only to have it jump in the air and try and get away. Even J.K. Rowling didn’t conceive of possessed shit.
Briefly we were joined by Boots…
But sadly he was gone too soon.
But the two venerable old ladies are now becoming increasingly dotty and taking to sitting near but not quite on various laps.
Maybe, one day, they will join Dog and me.
Or maybe they’ll follow Dog’s lead…
As long as they stay happy…