Last week we got rid of the cat. Cue Monty Python:

(Mrs Conclusion) I just spent four hours burying the cat.
(Mrs Premise) Four hours to bury a cat?
(Mrs Conclusion) Yes - it wouldn't keep still.

Let me attempt to explain. We acquired Cosmo (like the name?) some 7 or 8 years ago from the Blue Cross home down at Trimley when he was a mere babe. And an incredibly cute kitten he was. Lovely looking thing, perhaps a Russian Blue, who willingly did everything you'd expect: pawing bits of string, chasing bouncy balls, and having the odd mad five minutes running up & down the stairs. There might be the odd nip, but surely that goes with the territory. Then along came the children.

All at once, the amount of attention lavished on our furball went from one end of the scale, the top, right the way to the other end, the bottom. And if my memory's any good, I believe he even disappeared for a few days. He became an antisocial animal, and we didn't do a lot to make him feel wanted, I'm sorry to say. It didn't help that as he was beginning to thaw, along came another child.

Wouldn't have been so bad if we'd all learned to get along under the same roof, but Cosmo and the kids never learned to mix. An unfortunate situation that resulted in both girls getting scratched on a handful of occasions, once around the eye, which added to the rather tense co-habitation. Recently I was the only one willing to pick him up, and that was done gingerly for fear of claws and teeth.

So with (yet) another child now starting to crawl, we decided it was time for some drastic action. And one phone call and car trip later, he'd been returned to the Blue Cross with few questions asked. May he find a happier home.

Be seeing you!

Ed