So along with too many old Tatlers and Vogues, shoes I can't walk in and computer type cables, I seem to have 'grown' a cat collection.
They have awoken me every single morning at 4am for the last 4 years wanting to be in or out, whichever is more inconvenient, they eat better than we do, and I hate them.
As you can tell by the amount of pictures I have taken of them.
I threaten to 'get rid' every week, dreaming of a time when I didn't have to wash curtains and bath mats almost daily, when I didn't have to blow plates before using them, just to be doubly sure, and I could stay away from home for more than one day without panicking.
This is the last litter of kittens I will endure.
The first baby Alabama had, was born on his own, and was crawling out of the box she had him in after 2 hours.
The second lot were delivered in the small hours of the night. I know this because the minute after she had them, she pushed them all into the small of my warm back and buggered off out into the night.
Clarence is aloof and distant, until bedtime, whereupon he turns into pillowcat and coils round my arm. Snoots and Lovely are Loves Hangover, and I have raised them from the time they were dumped on me by their tart of a mother.
Two out of the last litter have been homed now, just leaving Runty Bear.
Here are the horrible things for you all to admire and be jealous of.