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It’s been too long since I last talked about the cats. And since it’s Sweeney’s 6th birthday next week, and there’s always plenty to say about her, I thought I’d indulge in a bit of good old-fashioned cat blogging. Because she’s there, she’s cute, and she’s a total nutjob.
Sweeney came into our family in October 2000, replacing the still-much-missed JessPuss. When we met her for the first time, she was in a cage at the Radcliffe Animal Shelter, waiting patiently for a new home and a new name (at that time she was called “Ethal”). She somehow managed to persuade us that she was the cat for us, none other would do, and we had to take her home there and then. Which we did. When we introduced her to her new home, she ran around the place, knocking over anything that was in her way and generally tearing around like a cop car in a cheesy 70s TV car chase. It was at this point we realised this cat was no Ethal, she was either a Bodie, a Doyle, a Starsky, a Hutch or indeed, a Sweeney. And lo, from that point, the mad little furball was renamed Sweeney.
She’s developed many odd interests since she came to live with us. She loves to sleep on dirty laundry. She likes to lick carrier bags. She thinks my arm is the best scratching post in the entire house. And she loves to play fetch – preferably with balls of rolled-up masking tape. She loves her sunbeams and will do anything to reach the optimum position for enjoying them. Her aim in life is to be where she shouldn’t be, and to eat what we’re having. She’s as daft as a brush and we love her to bits.
Happy birthday, you mentil kittin. Now get down from there!