Finally it;s MY turn - REALLY mired in the bog

I really should have started this two days ago, but I didn't know how to blog - first boggy squelch, and I have been, well, exhausted, second boggy squelch.

With apologies to our son

It all actually began on Tuesday - our Nanton based buddies were coming up to lunch to do a trade - trees for lamb and manure, with some super tomatoes thrown in. And L remarked - "you were talking about cats - do you still want one, or two?" As the other half was hanging out somewhere else I said "oh yes, thankyou", so into the pot went a couple of barn cats...

They arrived in assorted plastic containers and L remarked that we probably wouldn't want the little one as it went completely berserk on being actually touched by human hands and bit through his heavy work gloves. The bigger of the two, (both as yet unsexed) was totally suave, sophisticated and at peace - he (was obvious at 12 weeks) sniffed noses with Sandy through his enclosure so we let him loose. Instant raport - rubbing and sniffing and when cat got up onto dog's favourite chair, dog merely wagged her tail. On the other hand the little one was placed into the bedroom to gain some sort of peace and quiet, whereupon it escaped up into the bedsprings and remained there for most of the night.

It was decided that I would sleep in the spare room with Sandy who was a bit overexcited, and B would oversee the kitties. It came down from It's perch in the springs to eat, copiously and we discovered that even an entire life (all 8 - 9 weeks) spent in a barn and running free across the yard was not enough to stop them from recognising the virtues of a dirt box. However, Sandy did not want to be cut off from her new friends and her adored master so she whined her way into her usual place, her bed at the bottom of ours. So with three animals safely in B's hands, I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep.

A loud scream issued forth from the master bedroom. I bolted into action expecting to find Sandy with a bloody face being attacked by half an pound of striped fur. I had left the cat box at the foot of the bed. Sandy had jumped up to grab a belly scratch and on jumping down to her bed, had landed on the edge of the catbox. After copious swearing, some of it actually imaginative, as when I trod in... no not necessary to go there. Sleep of a kind was restored and B left for work in the morning muttering "this was a bloody mistake", with me twittering and placating behind him. Luckily he never discovered the poops on the carpet.

Day two saw two cats exploring - it was hard to actually see them, I caught glimpses of tails disappearing under furniture. Heard scrunching kitty kibble but no kitties seen. I wanted to name them and came up with Jack for the elder one - as in "I'm all right Jack" as he indubitably is but as we still have not been able to pick up the little one so it is called Barneycat. They are both tabbies with some yellow in the markings and to cut a long story short, are settling in nicely.

Saturday morning: apart from being awakened by the thundering of tiny hooves up and down the corridor durng the latter part of the night, all is well today. Neither cat will allow itself to be picked up. Barnycat will not be touched, but FatJack is laid back about belly and ear rubs. It will take a while, but we will have two lovely cats and Sandy is delighted.