Back when I lost Buddy in July last year, and acquired Pockets, I had my heart set on a silver female somali kitten I’d seen for sale on the interchoobs. I’d even given her a name, Penelope Pawstop. It was how Pockets got his name, as in the cartoon The Perils of Penelope Pitstop, Pockets was one of The Anthill Mob. It turned out however, that I couldn’t buy her due to the usual issues of life and lack of funds getting in the way.
I didn’t worry about it, Pockets was a name that seemed to suit our lovely Heinz 57 blend rescue kitteh.
When the Boyfriend found the kittens we saw yesterday available for sale, I immediately said I’ll have the boy, and armed with the rest of the names of The Anthill Mob we began the long journey North.
It turned out that I couldn’t have the boy kitteh. Not because he was sold to someone else, the breeder had reserved him for us, and not because he was an unfriendly cat. I realised he resembled too closely my old Somali, and there was no way I was going to be able to stop seeing and looking for him and his traits in everything the new boy did.
I had also done something I didn’t expect to do. I fell immediately in love with his sister. I was worried at first that having reserved the male in advance changing my mind would be a problem. As luck would have it, the breeder had someone else who wanted the boy and the girl was free to buy. So the Boyfriend did, and nine months later than planned, a female, silver Somali called Penelope Pawstop arrived.
But we made it. Safe, sound, and with all passengers present and correct.
Total journey? 1,026.9 miles door to door. Absolutely knackered now.
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.
This is the second Friday 13th of the year and they couldn’t have been more opposite.
The first was full of hope as I placed the deposit on this gorgeous flat, and started the next leg of this journey called life.
Today is full of despair. The vet has told me that my beautiful boy, has a stomach cavity full of lumps and is too pale and small to survive and anaesthetic, and even if he did she is doubtful that they could remove everything she can feel, so there is only one course of action.
I cannot stop crying.