Monty was my childhood cat - he, too, came from a market stall. He was the last one left, with a runny eye, so Nan felt sorry for him and home he came. The eye cleared up (warm milk apparently did the trick). He put up with me putting him in my dolls pram, covered in blankets, being wheeled around everywhere. We had to leave him with Nan when we moved to the country - Harlow
As I am sure you all know, there are many,many feral stray cats here, our lot have a full-time job defending our garden. Sam called me from the upstairs balcony to say there was a dead cat in the field. I got the binoculars out and confirmed it.It was right in the middle of the field with it's head at an awkward angle. I had seen a couple of stray dogs in the lane yesterday and, when they catch a cat, they usually snap it's neck. Knowing that the Greeks will just leave it there, Sam went out with rubber gloves, bin bags etc. to remove the poor thing.As he got within touching distance, the cat opened one eye, hissed something that sounded like 'what the feck do you want', and strolled off....
He is head of a local colony and a real bruiser.I can just imagine him swaggering round his fiefdom complaining ' so there I was having a kip in the sun, minding me own business, when that tall English bloke - you know the one with all those poncy cats with their stupid little houses-comes right up to me.He was wearing rubber gloves and looked like a right div. I told him to feck off - bloomin' cheek..'
It's a great pity the right of free speech isn't based on the obligation to say something sensible.