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April 04, 2004

The garden plot.

I don't normally think about cats. They're just... There. I'm reasonably sure they follow me around because they've spotted me as a hacker - second only to the truly allergic as something to curl up and crash out on. However, there was the curious night when I'd parked the car at the end of the road after work and it seemed that every cat on the street and their chums were out and seemed keen to come and say hello. There was even this little tortoiseshell one sitting expectantly on the wall next to my front door. A cat that I'd never seen before looking at me like I owed it food or a warm monitor to curl up on...

... I guess at that point I already knew, just as they did, the gist of the letter from my mother that I found on the doormat.

My cat (inasmuch as any cat is ever anyone's), Belgium, had died that week.

I suppose they (rightly) thought I'd need a replacement.

And then there was this other conversation about boarding out cats:

"They just bung them in cages for two weeks."

"Two weeks in a cage? That's not much of a holiday."

"I dunno. It depends on your outlook. I know some people who'd pay plenty dollar to be locked in a cage for two weeks and taunted with mice. And they're cats anyway, they're asleep for 23 hours of the day."

"No shit. I've met some of your friends. They could at least put radiators in the cages for the cats to kip on."

"Well, yeah. They probably do in the posh cat-places."

"So there are all these cages with wee storage heaters with comatose cats on? Their leccy bill must be a bugger."

"I guess so. It's probably not much of a step up to cat adventure holidays that offer clay mouse shooting and parascending and stuff."

"Right. And how much d'you bet that all the German cats get up dead early at half-eleven in the morning to go out and put towels on the radiators furthest away from the pool?"

Posted by Hirez at April 4, 2004 12:28 PM


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