I have once again returned from the wilds of procrastination and found my way back to my blog. I shall endeavour to blog more in the lead up to Christmas, mainly so I can confuse those of you in the northern hemisphere!
But today is not just a couple of weeks before Christmas; it was this day 2 years ago that I bought home a 9 month old tabby cat from a local animal rescue shelter.
The day before I’d gone out to the shelter to look at a cat (who was beautiful but completely feral) and had taken my Mum out with me. There were cats everywhere – it was like a hippy commune for cats but cats have a way of choosing you and this was the case. Mum pointed at a tabby and said ‘That one’s got lovely markings’ at this the woman who ran the shelter picked him up and gave him to me, he promptly put his paws around my neck and hugged me, it was a done deal.
The shelter had called him Fonzie because he was cool but I wasn’t sold, he seemed too hyper and I thought a black cat would suit the name better but enough of my friends said ‘I don’t care what you call him I’m calling him Fonzie’ that there didn’t seem much point in changing his name.
Two years on he’s a full grown cat who definitely thinks he owns the place and that we are just his staff. He’s grown into a really friendly cat who likes meeting most people even if he is a bit of a sexist pig at times.