When we were asked by the in-laws to look after their cat, it seemed like a simple request, and an easy job for us to do. I mean, we already have three cats what could go wrong if we add a forth if only for a couple of week?
The answer; plenty. Of our three cats, Molly I thought would be the worst trouble, but she and the in-laws cat (more about it's name later) just sniffed and went different ways.
Little Girl, AKA Stumpy, was a different kettle of fish with much snarling, hissing and hackles raised they had a stand-off, but every time they passed it was much the same.
Sulu, 17 year old and likeable and very easy going, and their cat's twin, reacted by the snarling thing with growls and hissing. I wasn't scared, but the newcomer was not best pleased.
And then we found out it had never seen a litter tray before, and meowed all the time to go out, looked out windows and pawed the closed and locked cat flap. And on top of all that decided not to eat.
As usual, we locked our three cats in the kitchen; well, I say that. We put them out and had the cat flap so they could get back in, but not back out again. Easy, we thought.
We went to bed with no worries or thoughts that anything could go wrong.
If they had had some kind of death match and it was last kitty standing the next morning, that would have been something. Instead we found just three cats; our three in the kitchen all very hungry and no sign of the in-law's cat.
About 'Missy', the name the cat is called by some of us. My Father-in-Law has not named it, so problem #1. The local vet could not say whether it was male or female. So, to say the car we put up in the village shop was light on details is quite truthful.
"Large Tabby Cat lost 5th June, St Vincent Rd, no name, sex; indeterminate, meows a lot"
we're not holding our breath there. We're just dreading the phone call from Scotland where they're holidaying asking how's things. I'll take the 5th!
So, after being very careful with money and not using the car much during the week, we do get out and about over the weekend, doing stuff, which really is me taking pictures, between the showers.
Saturday, after the usual battle in Tescos, we head out to Broadstairs, where I had not been for a while. Broadstairs in in reality, just a suburb of Ramsgate, or so it seems and the join between the two is lost on me. Road signs don't help either, as following directions to Broadstairs soon results in being lost in a faceless housing estate.
And then there is Broadstairs itself; quite possibly the worst through road in the country; all 90 degree bends and single track road with no passing places. Getting through can take an age and puts years on the driver.
We find a parking space and head off down narrow streets lined with cottages built of flint. As nice as it sounds, and quite photogenic. We make friends with a kitten who gets quite close and personal and pass Charles Dickens' house, now called Bleak House; where did they get the idea for that? Before heading down a narrow alley onto the pier and overlooking the harbour and picturesque bay.
Everywhere was quite full, but we call in a large pub and sit on the terrace; me drinking beer because I am man and hunter and Julie a fruit juice because she has a headache. We people watch, and cannot but earwig a conversation between a group of orange women who lunch discussing the vagueries of wireless internet. Before switching back to shoes and such stuff.
We chuckle along before getting up for a walk along the sand and up the photogenic steps and then onto the bandstand. The sun even tries to come out and thoughts turn to ice cream, but decide against it.
We head home for and for the search for the pub with the football on the telly.
Not as easy as one would imagine, but I find one with an illegal Serbian channel showing England battling the might of Kazakhstan whilst sampling the best Shepherd Neame has to offer. I quickly made friends and we soon began ignoring the match for the age old game of making fun of the really drunk and ill-informed.
What better way to end the day than to get fish and chips and eat them on the cliffs overlooking the Channel and the ferries going hither and thither?
Sunday dawned bright and warm, and we head out to fun-filled Folkestone to visit the old High Street, now re-branded the 'Artistic Quarter!'
They have made a half decent job of it, and when finished maybe there will be enough customers and visitors for all the galleries and curio shops that line the narrow cobbled street.
A left turn at the top of the street away from the modern shopping area brings the visitor to quiet Georgian squares, churches with histories dating back to Saxon times, and peace.
Sadly in the churchyard discarded empty aerosol cans and empty condom packets reveal this to be the place for drugged nights of debauchery, and something not very nice for those whose houses look onto the churchyard.
We find a small cafe in a quiet square and have brunch whilst more people watching; Girls dressed up as tarts totter past in heels; not the way ten year olds should be in my book; but speaking as a non-parent maybe I shouldn't comment.
The requisite number of photographs taken, we head down to the harbour, mix with those eating jellied eels and toddles with look of glee as they see a beach for the first time; we decide to head home for coffee and saffron buns and some peace and quiet and ponder where that cat could be.
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