Tig on the warpath

It's not easy, being Tig. Especially today, booked in to have his teeth cleaned, and a dodgy one removed.

Driving to the vets this morning with a grumpy-arsed and hungry cat was not fun. He was being a little demon, in the hell-fire sense. I am a woman doomed. No food since 8.30pm yesterday?? Not even allowed to eat that really big spider he found in the bedroom? (Certainly not - it was huge, and I had my orders from the new vet on the block). Did I really think I could escape unscathed? Yet in the surgery he was a little stripy cuddly cat, charm personified.

Git.

And meanwhile, back at the ranch, Mum is dealing with the other four, who were also put on the 'no food after 8.30pm' diet. But she will be ok; I was the one who starved them all, she is Grannie God Cop with opposable thumbs and a working knowledge of a tin opener.

Guess which one of us will be banished to sleep in the shed for a while?