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Not yet encatted
Monday, August 10th, 2015 10:31 amThe plan then, was simple: we bought all the stuff – enclosed litter tray and litter, a bunch of soft blankets and such, some bowls for food and water, biscuits and a huge amount of tinned cat food. We even acquired a scratch post, although that was more in hope than expectation. We decided not to buy beds until we knew what the cats we ended up with actually like, though we have a couple of big boxes for the short term.
Everything then, was ready. We tidied up the kitchen, and moved furniture around to accommodate newcomers and by Sunday morning we were ready for our midday appointment to find some cats.
And then we got the phone call.
We were honoured, I suppose, it was Celia Hammond herself. And it transpires that she is rather mad. She seems to have thought that we had tried and failed to get a cat from her cat rescue place before. Well, she was partially correct. Furtle emailed and then followed up with a phone call some months back, but got no response. That didn’t seem to matter, as the sainted Celia still assumed that we had been rejected once and were trying to somehow game the system. Further, she refused to accept that she had homed three cats with our lovely neighbours, six or seven years ago, despite the fact that they are there to be seen.
Anyway, once we had cleared the ‘gaming’ point up, the sense of the surreal continued to build as it was suggested that we effectively turn our garden into a giant cage, and/or somehow persuade our neighbours on the other side to fence off their property from the road so the cats can’t get to it.
Eventually we got back to the point we had agreed with the inspector who visited the Gin Palace a couple of weeks ago, whereby we will put some chicken netting over the top of the gate and fence outside the back door so that any eventual cattish inhabitant will be channelled in through the cat flap in one direction, or down the garden in the other.
Nonetheless, we do not yet have a cat. Despite the fact that they are crying out for people to take cats, the refuge’s cages are preferable to the remote possibility that a cat will try to cross a busy road, eschewing a large garden with easy access to other gardens, to climb over an uninviting gate and fence to get onto a loud, smelly and even less inviting road, which has nothing the other side to attract a cat.
Plan B is to wait now, until after our holiday at the beginning of September and then approach the RSPCA, or similar.
Next time Celia Hammond opens a cupboard and a dozen cats drop on her head, I hope she recalls the fact that we would have taken two and given them a comfy home and pampered existence.
Everything then, was ready. We tidied up the kitchen, and moved furniture around to accommodate newcomers and by Sunday morning we were ready for our midday appointment to find some cats.
And then we got the phone call.
We were honoured, I suppose, it was Celia Hammond herself. And it transpires that she is rather mad. She seems to have thought that we had tried and failed to get a cat from her cat rescue place before. Well, she was partially correct. Furtle emailed and then followed up with a phone call some months back, but got no response. That didn’t seem to matter, as the sainted Celia still assumed that we had been rejected once and were trying to somehow game the system. Further, she refused to accept that she had homed three cats with our lovely neighbours, six or seven years ago, despite the fact that they are there to be seen.
Anyway, once we had cleared the ‘gaming’ point up, the sense of the surreal continued to build as it was suggested that we effectively turn our garden into a giant cage, and/or somehow persuade our neighbours on the other side to fence off their property from the road so the cats can’t get to it.
Eventually we got back to the point we had agreed with the inspector who visited the Gin Palace a couple of weeks ago, whereby we will put some chicken netting over the top of the gate and fence outside the back door so that any eventual cattish inhabitant will be channelled in through the cat flap in one direction, or down the garden in the other.
Nonetheless, we do not yet have a cat. Despite the fact that they are crying out for people to take cats, the refuge’s cages are preferable to the remote possibility that a cat will try to cross a busy road, eschewing a large garden with easy access to other gardens, to climb over an uninviting gate and fence to get onto a loud, smelly and even less inviting road, which has nothing the other side to attract a cat.
Plan B is to wait now, until after our holiday at the beginning of September and then approach the RSPCA, or similar.
Next time Celia Hammond opens a cupboard and a dozen cats drop on her head, I hope she recalls the fact that we would have taken two and given them a comfy home and pampered existence.