I have met the love of my life.

I knew it from the moment I met her one sunny afternoon. She’d come to visit me at the foster home, my sister was there too with some different visitors who’d taken quite a shine to her. I was worried because I don’t have a tail, and all dogs know that wagging is a proven method of bagging an adoption. But she loved me anyway, or perhaps even more for it, and I ended up going home with her.

The first sign of imperfection was revealed on the journey home – a car. Why anyone would like to sit in such a machine is beyond me. It launches you from one side to the other so that you slide across violently in the back. I thought it would be the end for me, the end of my pitiful life at six months old.

So I was understandably excited to arrive home and escape from the metal box on wheels that they travel in. For a few days I was the jewel of the household. Mum let me snuggle on the sofa with me while she curled up with a book. She played tug of war with me in the garden. She let me sleep with her sock and bought a brand new teddy bear just for me. It was heaven.

But then I met her.

The demon creature that lives in the conservatory.

The cat.

At first I thought: well here is a new playmate, I can’t wait to meet her! But she hissed whenever I got close, and stuck her hackles up like spears on her back. She even made a swipe for me when the humans weren’t looking! So I kept my distance, and glued myself to mum’s heels.

But then the unthinkable happened – mum picked the cat up. She stroked the thing tenderly, as though she actually loved it! Although how anyone could love that thing is beyond me, all she does is lie there until there’s some food to steal. The little Cat-thief! At first I felt dejected that mum hadn’t taken my side in our feud, but then it morphed into anger.

Now I’m ready to take this demon cat down.


Noche enjoying a cuddle.

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