It has been a tricky few days once more, but my cat is now installed in a temporary home at a friend of my boyfriend’s – we gave her moggy valium, which made her shuffle around the room like a drunken sailor, but it did seem to reduce the stress involved for all concerned.
Next day I get a call from boyf as I am driving home, saying that the cat has disappeared. This is a Houdini-like act, because her temporary foster uncle has kept the door closed to the basement room at all time, and thinks she’s nibbled at her food.
After a panic, I did realise that people who have never owned cats don’t realise what TINY spaces they can wedge themselves into, especially when they’re scared. So I headed over there and sure enough, as soon as I stepped into the room and called her name, her little grey head appeared from under a mammoth oak desk. Well, the pedestal bit that is, at most, six inches from the ground. It took her about 60 seconds to limbo her way out, and foster uncle was astonished at her dexterity. She’s a little happier now, has a huge window to look out of, but we daren’t let her out because she might try to walk the 12 miles to Shepherds Bush, her last home, and that wouldn’t really work…
I am sure this isn’t the end of the saga but things are brighter on that front.
I have continued house-hunting, seeing amongst other sights, the rankest bachelor fridge ever witnessed (in a gorgeous, designer house – so bizarre). I also saw a house with a fab loft conversion but, on investigation, the guy totally neglected to get council approval. At least I found out before spending any money but WHY are people so stupid? Oh and the only other house I liked that I saw may have the dreaded S: subsidence.
Maybe I should change the name of this blog to The Hopeless Househunter.
Lovely link of the day:
I realise that posting about cats is of limited appeal to moggy-haters, but this blog chronicles the life of a ginger cat called Fred and I think it’s funny.