It’s quite a while since I had a cat story to tell, so it’s about time I told you about Macbeth.

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It’s now 11 weeks since Poppy came into our lives and on the whole things are good as we’ve all slipped into a routine. In the beginning she panicked if she thought I was trying to shut her in, now she panics if she thinks I’m going to shut her out, which has to be a sign of progress.There are however one or two unresolved issues.

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Poppy’s not the first cat I’ve tried to bring in from the cold, (apologies to Deric Longden) 20+ years ago there was Jackson and more recently Leonard. I was successful both times with these boys and they each lived out their remaining years in love and comfort.

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So there we were 3 days before Xmas trying to decide on a name for our new friend when the phone rang. The lady said she was calling in response to my advert in the Post Office about a lost black cat. She said it sounded like her mum’s cat, Poppy.

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It was Sunday November 27th, just over 3 weeks since we had lost Leonard and we were still suffering. Neither Peter nor I were ready to take on another cat so soon after his passing, indeed we had even discussed, albeit briefly, the notion of never having a cat again given our grief and proximity to a busy road.

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