Mellors and the 'Wets'

I am writing this quietly because I don't want Mellors to be upset again this week.
Now I am not saying Ingrid wasn't lovely. She was from 'Sveden' and I think this may have led to a few communication problems, but, to be fair, she did her best.
For example, when she asked if we had 'done the vermin', Mellors stopped shaking for a minute to look at me with disgust. "Yes," I said proudly, to ensure his self esteem remained intact, "Mellors takes care of any mice."
Then I realised she was asking me if he had been wormed. Not the most dignified of procedures at the best of times - the nightmare administration of the tablet (pre Marmite idea), followed by the flying leap through the cat flap a couple of hours later, and a lot of frantic digging, soil scattering everywhere, to cover up the embarrassing...
Well, I am sure that's probably enough detail, you get the idea?
So, we left the 'Wets' about an hour later, Mellors having got back in to his transporter basket a damn sight quicker than it took me to get him in it earlier that morning. We both cried all the way home. Mellors, because of injections, thermometers and and the general trauma of the whole experience, me because I was wondering how I was going to pay the bill - not so different from the size of a small mortgage.
Suffice to say, Mellors and the 'Wets' has never been a match made in heaven.
On top of all this, he is now on a special diet, the cost of which probably exceeds Gordon Ramsay's finest menu selection. I can tell you, the 'F' word was not far from my lips either.
It did cross my mind on our way home that there might be an alternative to funding this diet. Well to be really honest there was more than one alternative, but you may think me heartless if I told you my initial thoughts.
We passed a butchers shop in Great Yarmouth with a big sign outside advertising 'Chitterlings and jot.'
For the offally unaware of you out there, chitterlings are pigs intestines, and there are 4 types of cows stomach called reed, weasand, honeycomb and jot. Now I prefer the outsides of animals if I eat them at all, but you never know, Mellors might enjoy. I mean, if he can eat mice with such relish, who knows?
I was going to attach a picture of the offending innards but I thought I would spare you and offer instead a picture of Mellors relaxing and carefree, all thoughts of needles far from his mind.
While he recovers I thought I would share with you that the receptionist at the 'Wets' (Broke patient confidentiality) and told me they have another cat on their books called Mellors! I think he may have a relapse if he finds out, so can you keep it quiet for now?
P.S. According to an article in The Independent, Great Yarmouth is one of the few places left where you can buy such delicacies as Chitterlings, which are becoming more popular in these difficult financial times. Think I'll stick with the fish and chips and donuts!

Never mind the Quality...

It wasn't long before the seasonal peace was shattered.
The familiar low growl, the simultaneous opening of back doors and the threatening cries of "Get in here now!" rang out across the village.
For me, this was quickly followed by a feeling of smugness. A bit like the feeling you get when you see your child on stage for the first time in the school concert, even if they only have a non speaking role as a plant stand or something. This maternal glow came about because it suddenly dawned on me that Mellors was standing right behind me in the kitchen and looking a little startled at my accusatory outburst. This could only mean one thing - there is another cat around. It sounded, from the safety of my kitchen as if Sally's cat next door had put up a good defence. Mellors looked up at me, in true manly style while glancing nervously at the door, as if to say, "You know I would be out there like a shot, but it sounds like it has been dealt with."
I think he is losing his touch.
I think I might be losing my grip on reality too since I have been back. I have always loved Alice in Wonderland (the story that is), However I did not think that when I put on the DVD for Abigail over Christmas, she would want to watch it continually. I counted at least six showings. Very strange film, it seems now, although as a child it seemed perfectly acceptable to me. I am so glad she has such good taste, like Grandma.
So when everyone had gone home after a lovely family Christmas and New Year, I thought I would do a bit of tidying up and home making.
On my boat this involved no more than a quick wipe of the sink with a damp cloth, lifting Mellors from the bed, brushing it down, brushing him down and putting him back again.
A house, it seems, takes a little longer, and costs more. So I thought I would summon all my creativity, and save money at the same time.
Not for me the expensive artwork from Ikea. No, I decided to buy some frames and pop in my own photos of the local area.
Now I know this is unusual for me but I got distracted.
I opened the cupboard to get out the hammer to put up the pictures and came across the bag with the orange and strawberry creams from the Quality Street tin. Do you remember, the tin of Quality Street that I had to buy to get a tin to put the mince pies in that I had made?
Well of course, I managed to eat most of the chocolates, but I never have been able to stomach the fruit creams.
I had lost the bit of paper with the different flavours on, long ago, so all the soft centres now have thumb prints in, just to make sure no hard centres escape my ingestion.
Would you believe I went to the village post office the other day and had a long and heated discussion about this very issue. Even harder to believe - they actually like the soft centres! So I am off to donate my left overs to show my appreciation for this valuable village facility. They do have some strange tastes in Norfolk.
On my wal;k there I had another idea for creative decor - a floral display. Now all I need is some sand. Any ideas where I can get some from?