hello kitty

I wasn't allowed a pet when I was growing up.

My two elder brothers had once been allowed to keep some goldfish as long as they looked after them ... you can guess how that ended ... down the pan!  As well as their untimely demise this also put an end to our family's relationship with the animal kingdom, well, on a live-in basis anyway.

I always felt badly done by about this; I wasn't even alive when the bloody fish carked it and resented the fact that I was being punished for my brothers' negligence.  Being the youngest by a country mile I would have done anything to have the constant companionship of my pet of choice, namely a puppy; a living, breathing, tail-wagging toy that would always be there to play with, cuddle up to and generally worship me ... not much to ask for is it?

I've known some great pets over the years, none of them mine alas, but I've been part of their extended family I hope: Tina (Sharon's dog), General (Ann's dog), Jasper (Sheila's dog), and Ollie & Lucy (Kay's dog and cat) to name my favourites.

Fate has a funny way of creeping up behind you and biting you on the arse though.  I always told mum and dad that I'd get them back when I grew up by having a menagerie of pets ... then suddently when I was around 17 I became allergic to anything with fur, which put paid to that dream.

It's never long before the first sneeze, although I'm ever hopeful that this allergy will recede as fast as it arrived.  It's been nearly 25 years and I'm still waiting ...

I did once try and convince myself that it was psychosomatic.  I was temping in an office when the security guard found an abandoned kitten in the grounds and it was love at first sight (the kitten, not the security guard).  Even though I was completely allergic and living in a shared house where no pets were allowed, I could hear myself saying out loud that I'd take it ... and so I did.

Oscar (after Mr Wilde) was a gorgeous smoky grey/white kitten, so small and fragile and heartbreakingly terrified of anything and everything at first.  Everyone in the house was OK with him so we figured what the landlady didn't know couldn't hurt her.  Or that was the plan.  I spent the next few days coaxing Oscar out of his shell and was amazed at how he flourished (litter training notwithstanding) - a little love goes a long way.  But, within a couple of days I was drowning in phlegm (it was as unpleasant as it sounds) and I knew that I was kidding myself; this love affair's days were numbered.  I found a fabulous cat sanctuary that was happy to give Oscar a home, and although it broke my heart (still does) I know it was for the best.  I still have the card that the sanctuary sent me a week later to say that Oscar had settled in well and was enjoying playing with his new friends on the farm.

I'm not so delusional to think that I'll ever really get over this allergy and as D is allergic too (& even more enamoured of our feline friends, RIP Addiecat - gone but very much remembered, I wish we could have met) we're sadly destined to be a two-legged household.

Or we were, until we became foster parents of Hazel!  She's a gorgeous white, ginger and black cat that has rather taken to us, for a limited time each week anyway.  We seem to get visitation for an hour or so at the weekend when she's doing the rounds and fancies a chat.  The first visit was very much aka social services checking out the joint and us; second visit was a test run; and we must have passed muster as the last visit was very much acceptance, I got the same look from Hazel as I did from Oscar once we'd got to know each other, the one that says 'you're ok you know, I think I like you'.  Hazel pops out the window when she's got somewhere better to be, but keeps coming back, which suits our nasal passages just fine; and I think that's the key, she stays because she wants to, not because she has to.  Long may it continue ...