The other night, Coyote and I were standing outside HQ, taking a break from sticking gold stars on a map of Wales (we'll tell you all about that later!) when a little furball scampered around the corner, straight up our steps and in through the door. We looked at it, looked at each other...looked at it again...and, as the more wordy half of the duo, I took it upon myself to eloquently sum up the situation.
'Cat.' I said.
Having ascertained that it was indeed a cat (it was the cat-ness that gave it away) and a girl (it was the way she applied mascara that gave it away), we cautiously approached her and made friends. I say 'cautiously' because we're not cat people. We like our pets to be more...well...canine. We still want a Husky called Bob. And besides; we've been at HQ for several months now, and many times I've commented on how unfriendly the cats of the village are. If you're (un)lucky enough to get within stroking distance of one, you'll probably have your hand ripped to shreds within a matter of seconds. Vicious little feckers, they are. Like the seagulls in Tywyn...only with even less mercy. And that's saying something.
Of course, the trouble with befriending a random cat that gatecrashes your house is that it'll probably stay for much longer than you want it to. Don't get us wrong; we'd happily adopt her if it wasn't for two things:
1) We're not at HQ all the time. Coyote has radio responsibilities and I have togging ties, so we're frequently away from the house.
2) She's perfectly groomed, is well-fed and reeks of perfume - so she's clearly a downright hussy.
So - as she seems happy in our company and she obviously has a loving owner that she's playing - we're happy to let her in of an evening and perhaps give her something to eat. We'll try her with sprouts at the weekend.
Plus...she shows the required level of disdain where BOFmobiles are concerned: