Some of my readers are aware that along with my love of cats, I’m also passionate about theology. It’s a tricky subject in a household where everyone other than me sincerely and simply believes that THEY ARE god. However, we muddle along, and over the last couple of days we’ve been revisiting the story of the prodigal son.
Facebook friends might well be aware of where this is going, as celebrations of Mog’s return began yesterday afternoon.
Mog has had a long hot summer on the allotments, and hasn’t been home since Easter. She’s managed to wind a lot of lovely lovely people around her little finger, so instead of looking like a poor stray living rough, she’s had more the appearance of Six Dinner Sid throughout the whole time. However, its getting cold, and dark early so difficult to go to see her after work, and then a neighbour told me about her cat who had been bitten by … well we don’t know what by, another cat, dog, fox.
Aunty Moggie (who tells me she doesn’t like cats … but nevertheless appears to have a soft spot for Mog) donated a lovely warm kennel for her to have on the allotment, so on Friday morning I went over to deliver it. I was horrified to see that Mog had a puncture mark by her ear, and signs of another set of teeth lower down her face. I’d been trying to make the best of a bad job with her living on the allotments, but something snapped in me when I saw that, and I decided she had to come home. Getting her into the carrier was one of the most scary things I’ve ever done. It’s not about my fear of being scratched or bitten, but fear that I only had one chance at it. If I didn’t manage it she’d be off into the allotment that I didn’t have a key for and would probably never trust me again. Visions of sitting up all night on a pitch dark, deserted allotment waiting for her to go into a trap. It wasn’t dignified but I stroked her, and then scruffed her and rammed her in the carrier.
Just to make it worse, we went home via the vets. Her booster was due and over due, and I needed the wound checking out. Tim at Vets4Pets was brilliant as ever and we got her sorted.
And so back home … my Mog … home for the first time in over 6 months! Into the spare bedroom that Meg vacated last week. My Mog, in my house again at last! To be honest I was afraid she might do the wall of death when confined inside again … but she had something to eat, settled down, snuggled on of Aunty Wizz’s lovely catnip pillows and went to sleep.
The feast has been flowing since then. New packet of boiled ham cracked open, lots of tins of pilchards served, treats running freely. I keep going upstairs to snuggle her ….. just because I can, lots of lovely purry snuggles. The permanent residents are a bit grouchy about all the fuss …… but trying to focus on the can opener