Black and White Alsatian Killer Cat is back. I hadn't seen him for a while, but went out into the back garden to shred the buddleia prunings before lunch (Shredding the Buddleia sounds as though it ought to be a country dance tune) and there he was sitting in the remains of the Astelia chatamica, looking inscrutable.
We also received another visit from a strange ginger. I drove past him this morning, strolling away from the house, and realised he wasn't our's because he didn't have a white bib and socks. I don't know where he comes from, but he likes to sit on the spare straw bales, and once nearly spoofed us into letting him in until we noticed he didn't have the requisite white patches and that our ginger was asleep on the hearthrug. A couple of nights ago the cat door crashed and a ginger cat ran off, while our's was curled up on the sofa. Afterwards we discovered that a small pot of chicken fat off the top of some stock that had been left by the sink had been emptied, presumed licked. This is rather worrying. Our ginger was originally a visitor, who over a period of about two years stayed for longer and longer intervals, until the day came where we'd paid the vet to treat a septic bite, at which point we decided he was our cat. But we really can't steal another ginger. Five cats (plus a part share in BAWAKC) is enough. We are already in Mad Cat People territory, and have quite enough bills for septic bites as it is, not to mention the cat food.
The latest victim was the big tabby, who managed to get bitten on his face. He might have been defending the cat door against marauding ginger invaders, but my money's on his sister. By the time we discovered the bite under his ruff it looked dreadful, though he seemed remarkably cheerful in himself. I am very grateful for the invention of injectable antibiotics, meaning I didn't have to prise his (presumably sore) jaws open daily for a week to get a pill into him. Our beautiful friendship, and my fingers, are preserved intact.
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