
2 of my Grandkids came around last night and made a fuss of CB. He was as good as gold bless him, such a sweet natured old gent. They shortened his name, so Mr Brodie it is then. Although they have a cheek. Among their menagerie of rescue animals:
2 Wee Yorkshire terriers: Wee Girl and Robert Mitchum
2 Mice: Agatha Christie and Miss Marple
2 Hamsters: Asda and Aldi
2 Iguanas: Sunshine and Rain
Need I go on?
Sorry, I digress. I woke this morning to a warm bodied Mr B cooried in between us, snuffling contentedly. My heart was filled with sadness at his predicament and then I opened my eyes, he yawned, stretched, reached out a paw.. and I was lost. He reminded me of the first night we had with my wee lady, Cody. He is so much better today. Coat and breath sweet and shiny, eaten all his supper, including half a bowl of Royal Canin dry and now his breakfast, plus plenty of water and a pat of butter. Weird that, Gandhi also used to love butter but it had to be Grahams, couldn't fob him off with anything else. He is a different cat from the sad little creature who came to us. I know he has major health problems with the accompanying human angst, don't know how much longer he will live, but I can't turf him out can I? We are resigned to keeping him. My dear hubby has just set off for the Shelter to make the arrangements. I'm half hoping he comes back with a cat companion...no...don't go there...
Issi