In Which I find a new Friend

Being self-employed means once a year, I have to work myself up to file my taxes or I have to brace myself for the wrath of Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs. January 31st is the deadline to dread as I search out receipts, invoices and wade through my nightmare admin system. Last year, I had two weeks to spare. This year, I procrastinated and procrastinated and then did them Thursday evening.

Part of the procrastination was looking at cat rehoming sites in Norfolk. There are several cat rehoming charities/sanctuaries, all with varying rules and regulations. Some won't rehome kittens unless they go in pairs, some won't rehome kittens with children under 5/4 or at all. Some won't rehome grown cats unless they've got a garden. Some require an application form, a pre-adoption visit, a hefty fee and a post-adoption visit.

I ignored all of that and looked at cats. 

Dave and I agreed that yesterday, we were going to finish off the tiling. When I told him I was looking at cats, he made mumbly noises, so I showed him the cats I was looking at. We agreed to go and look. He warned me several times and I quote:

"We are going to look. Do not expect to come home with a cat in a carrier bag."

We go to the back and beyond. The elderly lady who set up this trust, surrounded by cats of varying ages, shapes and sizes, asks me a few pointed questions and then I am shown into the cattery. 

In the past few weeks since Solitaire died, I've found it very difficult coming home to a cold, empty, dark flat. I miss her so very, very much. Her little face in the glass panel of the door, pleased to see me. I miss her little Solitaire ways.

When I started looking at pictures of cats - all I saw were small, black, nervy cats. It turns out black cats have the lowest adoption rate. I was determined not to get another small, nervy cat. Solitaire was her own person and I can never replace her. I was looking for a companion, a new friend and lodger.

The lady who showed me around said they adopt to people who the cats choose, rather than the other way round. She led me through the cattery where there were a mixture of permanent residents and cats waiting for their new slaves. Beji was described as a slim, slightly nervous cat. Suitable for indoors only...and preferably to go with his "best friend" Basil.

Benji is not slim, by any means. He's a massive bruiser. Though that really didn't register too much until he came home with us. Every time Basil came anywhere near him, there was much growling and fuss. He was however, the only cat who was interested in me and continued to be interested in me once we greeted each other. The lady went and got Dave and the two said hello to each other. At that the lady said, "Have you got a pet carrier? It's decided, he'll have you."

Dave and I blinked at each other.

Yes, Dave still had my carrier in his car, but when he brought it in, it was obvious there no way Benji was going to fit. He was too big. Happily, they had a spare carrier that they let me have and I left mine with them. Benji was cornered and coaxed into the carrier and within 15 minutes, Dave, my new owner and I were heading back to Norwich. He was as good as gold in the car. I held the carrier on my lap and he settled down. Half-way home, he stuck his paw out to hold my hand.

We had to go home via the pet store to get him all the things that should have been waiting here for him. I really wasn't expecting to be bringing a cat home on the same day. He was uncomplaining for the whole trip, the wait in the car park with Dave, and arrival at the flat. His new domain.

He disappeared for a couple of hours, which is standard behaviour. Cats like to find some place safe to act as a base, they come out and explore in quadrants and in very small doses. 

There was a knock on the door and there was my Boy! He decided to surprise me. Had I known he was about, I'd have dragged him off to choose my new owner. But as Dave said, I have to live with the beast; it was important we chose each other. 

First thing that had to happen was a rename. Boy's middle name is Benjamin and Zoe's dog's name is Ben. Another Benjamin would just be too weird. Boy came up with the idea over dinner of keeping with the card game theme, so Benji is now Rummy. 

He's a big fellow. I mean really big. He's also quite confident and strong. Now he's settling in, I'm beginning to really see who he is; I think we'll get on just fine. He's draped on one of our sofas, taking up quite a bit of space. As I was writing this he decided he wanted to be on my lap. My lap and chair are not big enough for him unless I hold onto him. I'm going to learn how to become a one-handed typist. Stop sniggering in the back.

I certainly got my wish in the fact he is his own person. He is different in size, shape and temperament to Solitaire. I think we'll get on just fine. He'll soon have me trained up.

My spot. You may worship me

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