Cheap, never cheap

Actually I'm trying to keep things cheap. I've only bought cat litter (which is in the (clean) oil-changing tray) and scoop, one tin of Denes kitten food and a 50p ball. I got a cat wormer and a sample of Hills kitten food from work, and I already had Frontline spray. So she should be healthy.

I'm determined not to name her. Once she's named it'll be difficult to move her on, and although if the dogs would accept her I'd love to keep her, but realistically I can't see that happening with Piggy. But it seems rude to simply call her 'the kitten' (especially with the connotations the word now has!) so I've still been running through names faster than Liz Taylor got through husbands; she's a very old-fashioned looking kit, so I've tried (and rejected) Ethel, Mabel and Florence. As things stand it looks as though she'll be here for the weekend because nobody's made any enquiries about her so I've moved her pen from the dining room to our bedroom so she doesn't spend so much time alone. The dogs aren't allowed upstairs anyway, and with the door shut I can safely let her out to play. This when she got yet another name. You remember Inspector Clousaeu's manservant in the Pink Panther films? Well because of the way she lurks beside the bed ready to pounce, 'Cato' seemed appropriate.


To while away the time in the bedroom while she played, I sat on the bed and started folding clothes. I didn't half jump when, instead of playing nicely on the floor, she took off, landed on my head then leapt for the windowsill. It would have been even more impressive if she'd reached it instead of hitting the wall below and landing on the floor with a thump and a startled expression.

I'm trying hard to get a picture of how small she really is, but she doesn't stay still for very long. The Boy took this one of her sitting on my hand. But of course she stretched up at the critical moment and enbiggified herself again.


I wonder if she'll let me get any sleep tonight?