“The only good cat is a dead cat”
This is my dear fathers motto. I’ve no idea what a cat ever did to make him feel this way but he certainly is adamant about it. I must confess I went along with it too (to the extent that I did not care for cats, not that I wanted to see them dead or anything) until the arrival of Dorian Grey.
He was homeless, hopelessly matted and starving to death. I was in love. 6 months on he is unmatted (dematted? less matted?) and a
fat healthy cat. Unfortunately I am now desperate for more cats. I imagine this is the way that other women feel about producing copious amounts of children. I long to hear the pitter patter of really tiny feet roaming my house and so, much to Mr Steeles disapproval, I am looking out for moar cats. Two to be precise. A ginger one for the Demonspawn (I’m so sorry in advance Ginger, just remember what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and I totally promise to get some hardcore pet insurance for your inevitable broken legs and dislocated whiskers) and another one; smoky in colour, peculiar in appearance, fat and I shall call her Prudence.
Well folks, today I found her.
Prudence was once a very attractive young lady but her extremely high standards for suitors have caused her to reach a certain age bereft of companionship. The years have not been kind to her and she is no longer the belle she once was. She needs love, although she may not be prepared to admit that.
I’d like to think in her youth she was a debutante. She can live in my house residing on a velvet cushion, scowling at Mr Grey for being brutish and uncouth (for the record he is neither but that’s just Prudence for you). I believe they will get along famously.
All that currently stands between me and Prudence, who is rightfully mine and absolutely gorgeous thank you very much, is 60 miles and £175. Inorite? Total bargain! Mr Steele has been, as usual, chronically unhelpful and anyone would think he didn’t want this gorgeous lady residing in our house. Maybe he thinks I’ll get jealous, feel threatened and start to urinate on everything. I can almost guarantee that won’t happen.
If anyone wants to donate to the ‘Help Aimes Get this Fugly Cat’ fund I’d be more than happy to take your money. Honestly, more than happy. Prudence Von Pancake (European aristocracy of course) you will be mine. Oh yes, you will be mine.