Fluff

1. People of blogland, thank you for your kind comments of the past week. J and I were reflecting on this need we felt for letting others know of our sadness at losing our fluffball; working in a nerdy, blokey kind of place he was nervous about letting on that he was sad, for fear that someone would laugh, or sneer, or shrug.
I have been more fortunate, in close contact with kind people who instantly admitted how devastated they would be if their own moggy died. Validation, if you will. I will.

2. Our house has felt empty this past week, and now that the cat hair has been hoovered off the living room carpet there’s only a shredded basket in the corridor as proof that there ever was a feline ruling over this place.

3. We are debating; a visit to the local cat shelter is in order; we have a good home to offer. But we don’t know when we’ll go yet.

4. Sid the vicious cat from next door is already prowling our garden, shifty bastard, trying to conquer his arch-enemy’s territory. I can’t spend all day by the door with my water pistol, you know!

5. the thing is, when we go to the rescue centre, we’ll probably want to take them all home.