Peterhead bound.

As anyone who follows this blog will know, I lost my beloved Somali cat last year, and got the gorgeous if amazingly annoying Pockets almost immediately after.

Pockets is a lovely cuddly cat, but part of me misses the traits of the ‘tart’ that is a Somali, and as someone more used to having two cats than one I’ve always hoped I could get another one, but at £450 for a pedigree I thought that would be a long way off.

As it turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong.

In recent weeks the Pockets has begun to exhibit behaviour that suggests, as he is an indoor cat, he is suffering from loneliness and boredom. He is such a constant craver of attention when we are home that I took the decision we needed another cat, the prospect of the issues introducing them to each other, far outweighing the consequences of his poor behaviour continuing in perpetuity.

So I started to look for a kitten. Initially I discounted the idea of a pedigree due to money, and the locations of the kittens that would be available for rehoming shortly. Then the Boyfriend did a little digging around and found some pedigree kittens available, reduced in price as they were 9 months old, rather than the 4 months you would usually buy them at, and he said he would buy one for me as an early birthday gift.

The only problem? They are 500 miles away. In Peterhead.

So that’s where we are heading today.

Because The Boyfriend is awesome for offering to buy one and, I’m truly that desperate for a Somali cat.

If you know the breed you’ll know why. If you don’t, you’ll wish you did.

I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.

A little less than two weeks ago I noticed a strange knocking noise coming from the front of my car.  Over the course of the first week, when I had no choice but to use it to drive to and from work and had no time to get it into the garage it got increasingly worse.

I have avoided using it since Friday last week as it is booked into the garage this Friday, which was the soonest I could get it in.  In the meantime, this morning I risked a trip down to my local tyre fitters as my rear tyres were borderline illegal and needed changing.

I mentioned my issue to a good friend there and got him to drive it into the ‘slot’ for changing tyre so he could gauge the depth of my problem, which he did quite quickly.

With the car up in the air and all the weight off the wheel…. this is what happened.

Turns out, that out of the four bolts that are supposed to hold my wheel on, only one was connected.  I’ve driven a thousand miles since those wheels were last taken off and replaced.  I think someone is watching over me.