2 + 6 =

+

= trouble

Yes, another post about those pesky critters. The dreadful picture at the top shows one of the cats who regularly uses our garden. Nothing unusual there, quite a lot of cats pass through what I have named our 'wildlife haven' (but what our neighbours would call a mess). Our cats, being relatively new on the block, tolerate them. Only the occasional hissy fit, so far only one trip to the vet for cat fight repairs. As I said, nothing unusual. The cat at the top, a tiny little black and white creature, has been around quite a lot recently, not looking in the best of health, but hey, we have two cats already, and they don't always take kindly to strangers, so what can you do. But, it turns out she had a reason for visiting. For in the back of the garden, in an over-grown bramble infested corner, she has had a litter. Five kittens, draining their mother dry. Six cats to catch.

So, for the past two days, an intensive feeding and taming programme has begun. The supermarket, having institued a multi-buy policy (no more than 6) has given special dispensation for bulk purchases of sardines (apparently very good for lactating mums). The sardines have gone down a treat (off a fork, no problems, 'and by the way, while I'm here, shall I just like your fingers clean of that tasty fish oil?'). The kittens are curious, and not afraid. The local animal shelter is primed, and will make room for them, once they are caught. All systems go.

But, my own 'sweet' moggies are not impressed. For the magical magnetic door to the garden is locked and blocked, and 'why the hell is she taking our food outside?'. (A magical door, but mysterious, as human presence somehow stops it working, so the big door must be used. Except, of course, when food is around, at which point nothing will stop a cat getting in.) One, the wuss when it comes to weather, doesn't mind too much, as she hates a touch of wind up her bottom, and would rather use a litter tray. The other has taken to threatening my laptop. And the cats at the bottom of the garden are slowly acquiring names.

Still, sitting outside in the cold and wet, getting Mum (Weezer, well, I did say, and she looks just like a weasel from the side) used to me being around, makes for ideal knitting time, and raglans are indeed warmer than lace. So the jumper is storming, up to the armscyes and nearly a sleeve. But could someone make me a hot toddy now, please?