Fat Bob is still with us. The trip to the vet last week confirmed that he is indeed a Bob, he doesn't have a chip, but he does have slightly dodgy teeth. I've been calling all the local rescue centres and they are either all full or simply ignoring my pleas for help. We're on the waiting lists of St Francis, the RSPCA, and the Blue Cross -- it's worse than getting your kids into Eton! I've even started approaching strangers in the street and asking whether they want him; yes, I am now Fat Bob's pimp. Meanwhile, he continues to sleep in our garage and haunt our doorstep -- but he's not on the list, so he's not getting in.
Fat Bob
Is not my kitty
He's just a cat
Who thinks that I am his mum
But Fat Bob is not my son ...
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5 comments:
Gwaaan -- take him in. Foundlings and strays are good for the karma
He has something of a reputation in the neighbourhood now -- he's the cat that chases dogs and demands so much affection that whole families have been spotting, running away from him. Sniff.
Then let's try the Emmie test. Not sure your two will be very happy -- especially given their delicate current condition. We do NEED to visit tho..
The Bobster has to stay. Look at him....managing to look nonchalant and 'how dare you spurn me...' all in one is a hell of a trick.
I try to be hard about beasts - especially pudden-tats - but he gets my vote.
The Bobster must stay. Managing to plead and convey insouciance in one look is a hell of a trick.
I'm usually pretty hard about beasts....or try to be so, especially with them there mogs, but that there Bob's a winner....fat or otherwise
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