This morning we took Boo to the vet.
When Brian picked her up, he immediately understood that the person she used to live with had been sad for some time. I understood that Boo was a breeding mum retired at 6, and just took it in my stride that she is tiny. Clearly a breeder for tiny kittens. He’s messaged them with numerous questions about vaccinations and is she spayed and so forth, but nothing has been forthcoming, so we took her in this morning to try and make sense of things.
She does not like going in the box and she’s determined and clever. It took Brian and I great patience and fortitude to get her in. We had to hunt her, close doors, chase her out from under beds, use towels. She is determined, wriggly and cunning. It was as much chance as anything else that, mid attack, I got her back feet in. Then it was done. She didn’t yowl once in. And off we went.
The vet reckons she’s barely one year old, if that. “She’s very like my cat you know. Very like her. She’ll go a bit brown in summer. I think there must be a bit of Bengal in there. They live forever, you know. I reckon you’ll have her twenty years.”
She’s barely a year old but she’s had a litter. “Definitely something going on down there.” She was a teenage mum. Maybe with a close relative. I’m glad we got her. She’s safe now.
A basic worm pill and check up and she was home. She’s not happy with me, but she’s been in my bedroom, all day, sleeping in Lou’s patch. Lou wasn’t involved in the kitnapping.
Pickle would have left me the stinkiest poo imaginable plum in the middle of my pillow, so I’m lucky to have this little black fool. We don’t know her birthday, can get no information, so Brian asked the vet when his birthday is. 9th August. So yeah, she’s a Leo now, officially. Just over a year old according to the law. And that’s that. And she’ll still be going when I’m seventy, probably. Well there we go. A cat is for life, not just for winter.
I’m happy she’s found a playful warm home full of friendly humans.
AlBarclay 