The world’s luckiest cat

As you know I’m not overly fond of cats. But I have to congratulate a grey kitten I’m going to tell you about on being a real survivor. Here’s the story so far…

Linda heard a kitten in our bushes. It was mewing away like mad. Linda kept me in the house because she knew what I’d do to any cat that dared to come into MY garden. She couldn’t find the kitten, but she put out some milk and food by our garage and opened the side door a bit.

Next morning there was no sign of the kitten and the food hadn’t been touched. Linda asked David and me to keep a look out for the kitten as she was off to England for a short break.

After she’d gone, both David and I thought we could hear the kitten when we went into the garage to get the car out for my walk, but neither of us could find it. That evening we thought we heard it again as we left to have dinner at Rob andJean’s. Still couldn’t find it.

David drove the seven miles to Rob and Jean’s and when he stopped and turned off the engine he could hear the kitten mewing in the engine compartment! He opened the bonnet and could hear it clearly, but couldn’t see it. Later Rob came out to help look and they managed to spot it. Rob got a glove and was able to reach down and catch the kitten as David held back some hoses, leads and whatnots.

Rob and Jean said they’d keep it. They’d recently lost Bee (a dog who was my great friend) to old age, so didn’t have any animals. This was great. David called Jean the next morning and everything seemed great. The kitten was inside, eating and liked to be cuddled. There was a bit of a panic about the kitten learning how to use its litter tray, but that was resolved.

Then there was another trauma for the kitten. Rob and Jean’s neighbours, Bavo and Huggy came to visit. Huggy, who’s a vet, discovered that the kitten had a broken tail! Apparently it had been broken for some time as it was quite infected. So now the poor kitten has just over half a tail left, but is much more comfortable. 

That’s the story so far. Hopefully life will settle down now for the poor thing as it’s used up quite a few of its nine lives. Rob and Jean named it Mercedes to honour its mode of arrival. But Huggy pointed out Mercedes was a boy, so the name was changed to Benz. However, Jean rather liked Mercedes and kept calling the kitten that, but David and Linda’s wine group decided that would confuse the poor thing and voted to call it Benz. Even I wish you well, Mercedes-Benz!

I get news from Robbie

I love hearing from my friends. I thought you might like to see the email I got from Robbie of Atlanta (wonder how he voted in the elections?). He sent it to David, who was quite slow at passing it on to me. I’m beginning to wonder if I need a full-time secretary. Anyway, here’s part of Robbie’s email. I’m pleased he is not quite so deaf now. (I seem to have problems with the word ‘No”, but otherwise, I’m fine in the hearing department.) Robbie also sent me a photo. Isn’t he a handsome dog!

Here’s what Robbie had to say:

“Hi. It's Robbie from Atlanta. Sorry I had to send this to your dad; although my dad has lots of de grease, he really is quite hopeless at doing something as simple as attaching a photo, as you asked. He tried several times to send it directly to you, then gave up. (I always know when he gives up when he says ‘I need a drink’.)

“Anyway, I thought I would send you a photo of myself cleverly trading a vital phone number for a treat. Works every time. I know you have a wonderful coat, but you must admit that mine is not too shabby, although I can tell you that wearing a full fur coat in 40 degree summer here is no fun at all. That brings up my next point. I think I mentioned that I lost my hearing. I'm not letting anyone know this, but it has come back slightly. It seems that I can hear ‘dinner’, ‘treat’ and other such words, but cannot or the life of me hear ‘let's go outside’ or ‘come and get brushed’, etc. Dad says it is selective hearing, although he seems to have that down to a science himself. (‘Scotch?’ he can hear perfectly; ‘Can you help with the dishes?’ — he never looks up). Happy walks, Robbie.”

David also got an email from a friend of his called Alan. It contained the alarming news that there is another Rupert who's in America. An eight-year-old boxer of all things. I think I am going to have to copyright my name.

Meet Robbie.