Eric Morecambe, founding member of the Reservoir Mogs, is no more.
It was a rock'n'roll end, involving a pretty brunette and a syringeful of powerful drugs.
Showing posts with label critters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label critters. Show all posts
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Eric rules...err, ok then
Mr Eric Morecambe, senior Reservoir Mog, has been giving me serious cause for concern.
In fact, on Tuesday I thought he was heading for the Great Catflap in The Sky, and whisked him off to the vets, prepared for the worst - the Dignitas treatment.
During the journey, he perked up. On the treatment bench, he eyeballed the vet and his whole attitude said
Whatever you were going to do with that thermometer, change your mind NOW.
So the big jab became one long-lasting antibiotic and one painkiller. I left with a bottle of Metacam and a cat who can still do the killer stare.
And result! Tonight I came home to find a skinny black cat with attitude sat at the gate waiting. So I did what any grateful owner would do - put the collar back on. Oh yes, if he's up to playing outside he needs his Hi-Vis and flea collar.
He's skinny, perky and massively pissed off with the outfit.
Friday, 29 May 2009
Pigeon
My cats decided to have a friend round for Eurovision.
I was out, watching Manchester United win the Premiership, then off to dinner with my sister and cousin. So they figured it was safe.
I got home just in time to watch the voting, and settled down after closing the blinds. The pets were acting weird, nothing new there.
About 30 minutes into the voting, I noticed a pigeon's foot sticking out through the blinds. At first I thought it was too much champagne, but no - there was a pigeon sat on my windowsill, trying to blend into the dark window. It was doing just fine until it stuck the foot out for better balance.
So the Pesky Critters were shooed into the kitchen, while I tried to persuade the pigeon to leave. After 5 minutes, it had a name (Duckworth) and demonstrated some lovely swooping techniques as it evaded me, followed by some terrific crashing techiques as it landed on any unsuitable perch it could find.
Meanwhile, three very angry cats and a Jack Russell were going ballistic in the hallway. The tone was "Catch your own ******* pigeon, he's ours!"
Duckworth made it clear he was not a nocturnal pigeon and had no intention of going out into the dark to find somewhere to roost. I put him in a cat basket in the bathroom, to wait for morning. He seemed happy enough with the water and birdfood. In fact, after I let him out of the bathroom window he flew off, came back and sat on the windowsill.
I think he just wanted to annoy the cats.
I was out, watching Manchester United win the Premiership, then off to dinner with my sister and cousin. So they figured it was safe.
I got home just in time to watch the voting, and settled down after closing the blinds. The pets were acting weird, nothing new there.
About 30 minutes into the voting, I noticed a pigeon's foot sticking out through the blinds. At first I thought it was too much champagne, but no - there was a pigeon sat on my windowsill, trying to blend into the dark window. It was doing just fine until it stuck the foot out for better balance.
So the Pesky Critters were shooed into the kitchen, while I tried to persuade the pigeon to leave. After 5 minutes, it had a name (Duckworth) and demonstrated some lovely swooping techniques as it evaded me, followed by some terrific crashing techiques as it landed on any unsuitable perch it could find.
Meanwhile, three very angry cats and a Jack Russell were going ballistic in the hallway. The tone was "Catch your own ******* pigeon, he's ours!"
Duckworth made it clear he was not a nocturnal pigeon and had no intention of going out into the dark to find somewhere to roost. I put him in a cat basket in the bathroom, to wait for morning. He seemed happy enough with the water and birdfood. In fact, after I let him out of the bathroom window he flew off, came back and sat on the windowsill.
I think he just wanted to annoy the cats.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Competitive critters
Now, how do you choose a winner out of this lot?
Mum was a leading contender. Stomach pains which turn out to be a mild blockage of the bowel, curable with a minor hernia operation. Right up to the point where they opened her up, found a very large and immovable tumour, and needed to perform an emergency colostomy. Followed by all sorts of medical intervention and she is still in hospital in a Catch-22; she can't leave until she gains weight, but can't/won't eat hospital food and is declining food parcels :(
Even by her standards, that is impressive Pesky Critter behaviour.
Bailey did try to give her a good run for her money, literally, by running away during a long walk. He ran off, in a strange area about 3 miles along the canal from home. Managed to get home in record time and to cross a 6-lane motorway & A-road junction. I was still running round the field off the canal bank, shouting like a lunatic and enrolling innocent passers-by in the search. All the while, the stumpy-legged git was heading for James's house, to have breakfast with the kids!
I called him lots of names, I don't recall Pesky Critter being one of them.
The worrying thought is this; the cats are very competitve. They have seen the bar set high, and may well fancy their chances.
Mum was a leading contender. Stomach pains which turn out to be a mild blockage of the bowel, curable with a minor hernia operation. Right up to the point where they opened her up, found a very large and immovable tumour, and needed to perform an emergency colostomy. Followed by all sorts of medical intervention and she is still in hospital in a Catch-22; she can't leave until she gains weight, but can't/won't eat hospital food and is declining food parcels :(
Even by her standards, that is impressive Pesky Critter behaviour.
Bailey did try to give her a good run for her money, literally, by running away during a long walk. He ran off, in a strange area about 3 miles along the canal from home. Managed to get home in record time and to cross a 6-lane motorway & A-road junction. I was still running round the field off the canal bank, shouting like a lunatic and enrolling innocent passers-by in the search. All the while, the stumpy-legged git was heading for James's house, to have breakfast with the kids!
I called him lots of names, I don't recall Pesky Critter being one of them.
The worrying thought is this; the cats are very competitve. They have seen the bar set high, and may well fancy their chances.
Friday, 3 April 2009
Not welcome in my own home.
The pests - sorry, PETS - are getting out of hand.
As Mum is still in hospital and I work full-time, I'm not home as much as I would like. At first, as the only human tin-opener, I commanded some respect. But they have all developed a taste for dry food and sleeping on the bed, which means I am useful in the morning and a waste of space at any other point.
My insistence on claiming bedspace and sitting on the furniture has become an unbearable problem to them. If they could find a human trainer to take me in hand, they would.
Thankfully they lack independent wealth and the ability to use Google.
As Mum is still in hospital and I work full-time, I'm not home as much as I would like. At first, as the only human tin-opener, I commanded some respect. But they have all developed a taste for dry food and sleeping on the bed, which means I am useful in the morning and a waste of space at any other point.
My insistence on claiming bedspace and sitting on the furniture has become an unbearable problem to them. If they could find a human trainer to take me in hand, they would.
Thankfully they lack independent wealth and the ability to use Google.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Bit of an absence...
but did it make the heart grow fonder?
I would like to say that the gap coincided with a period of peace and tranquility.
Not a bloody hope! My mother has been hospitalised since Friday 13th.
The cats think this is highly suspicious, and as I left with her and the paramedics, clearly it is MY FAULT.
Bailey didn't get away unscathed either as he was accidentally shut in the room.
So the dog and I are prime suspects and the cats are not going to rest until we are brought to book for it.
Rosie is currently enduring a soujourn in a local hospital, but there is still a fair bit of driving to be done after work. This means I can hide from the vengeful moggies, in my workplace or my car. Bailey, however, is not allowed in the workplace and is afraid of cars, and can't be left in a car park during visiting. He is alone to cop the flak.
Poor little hound...if you want to donate chewy sticks to compensate for this dreadful existence, leave an e-mail address and we'll sort something.
I would like to say that the gap coincided with a period of peace and tranquility.
Not a bloody hope! My mother has been hospitalised since Friday 13th.
The cats think this is highly suspicious, and as I left with her and the paramedics, clearly it is MY FAULT.
Bailey didn't get away unscathed either as he was accidentally shut in the room.
So the dog and I are prime suspects and the cats are not going to rest until we are brought to book for it.
Rosie is currently enduring a soujourn in a local hospital, but there is still a fair bit of driving to be done after work. This means I can hide from the vengeful moggies, in my workplace or my car. Bailey, however, is not allowed in the workplace and is afraid of cars, and can't be left in a car park during visiting. He is alone to cop the flak.
Poor little hound...if you want to donate chewy sticks to compensate for this dreadful existence, leave an e-mail address and we'll sort something.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
Goodbye Gromit
Sadly, we had to have Gromit put down on Friday night.
He was 13 years old, and considering he was a psychopathic monster eating at the Last Chance chewy-stick bowl when we rescued him, he did alright in the end.
He leaves behind a miserable Tigger, and a worried (outnumbered) Bailey.
Eric and Jasmine were unavailable for comment but it sounded like the cat equivalent of 'One down, one to go'.
He was 13 years old, and considering he was a psychopathic monster eating at the Last Chance chewy-stick bowl when we rescued him, he did alright in the end.
He leaves behind a miserable Tigger, and a worried (outnumbered) Bailey.
Eric and Jasmine were unavailable for comment but it sounded like the cat equivalent of 'One down, one to go'.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
My pets are weird.
They are the only creatures on my road who are pleased that United Utilities are digging up the gas and water mains to selected properties.
For everyone else, this means disrupted gas and water supply. Yep, cold water if you are lucky and don't bet on that. Apparently all the nasty freezing cold and mucky stuff will start tomorrow.
For my barmy crew, it means a big muddy hole at the side of the house (oh joy of joys to a pair of scruffy terriers) and some visitors.
My mum has been brewing up for the workmen and letting them use the loo. My pets are lovely to strangers and only get stroppy with family. The workmen are so pleased to get decent tea and not use the portaloo, they have joined Bailey's fan club.
The cats have been keeping a sensible distance from the mud pit but it hasn't stopped them playing mind games with the dogs. The dogs can only get to the pit if they go out through the front door, they can't squeeze through the back gate into the passageway that is now Mudpit Central.
The cats can squeeze through the gate and make much of the fact. They do it too often to be coincidence; there is definite malicious intent.
Actually, Gromit is now very old and frail. Well, it sounds more sympathetic than nearly-past-it and scrawny. He probably could fit through, but Bailey the Barrel would never make it, and you've got to be loyal to your species, haven't you?
That is probably the real difference between cats and dogs; the cats wouldn't give a stuff if one couldn't join in, they work on majority rule.
I'll be going to the gym a lot more in the next week or so. At least I can get a shower there.
For everyone else, this means disrupted gas and water supply. Yep, cold water if you are lucky and don't bet on that. Apparently all the nasty freezing cold and mucky stuff will start tomorrow.
For my barmy crew, it means a big muddy hole at the side of the house (oh joy of joys to a pair of scruffy terriers) and some visitors.
My mum has been brewing up for the workmen and letting them use the loo. My pets are lovely to strangers and only get stroppy with family. The workmen are so pleased to get decent tea and not use the portaloo, they have joined Bailey's fan club.
The cats have been keeping a sensible distance from the mud pit but it hasn't stopped them playing mind games with the dogs. The dogs can only get to the pit if they go out through the front door, they can't squeeze through the back gate into the passageway that is now Mudpit Central.
The cats can squeeze through the gate and make much of the fact. They do it too often to be coincidence; there is definite malicious intent.
Actually, Gromit is now very old and frail. Well, it sounds more sympathetic than nearly-past-it and scrawny. He probably could fit through, but Bailey the Barrel would never make it, and you've got to be loyal to your species, haven't you?
That is probably the real difference between cats and dogs; the cats wouldn't give a stuff if one couldn't join in, they work on majority rule.
I'll be going to the gym a lot more in the next week or so. At least I can get a shower there.
Sunday, 9 November 2008
A bit different from a bat up your nightie
I wouldn't say I worked in a wildlife haven.
Sure, since they've started to landscape round us, all the birds are back and we have an abundance of creepy-crawlies. But I didn't really expect to see a bat in one of our training rooms. Zooming around in perfect circles, desperate to escape.
I know that feeling.
Poor critter. Instead of closing the door and leaving it in peace, I made the mistake of yelling out that there was a bird in the training room. This was before I realised that it couldn't be a bird - birds produce more noise and more shit when alarmed.
The new girl decided to catch the critter by trying to drop a tea-towel on it. The sensible creature retreated to the top of a 2-metre door and folded up very tightly. In the meantime we folded down a partition door, to offer it an escape route outside, and called the RSPCA.
And here's where I did the cruel thing. I offered to stay while the RSPCA came but one of my most hateful colleagues wanted the kudos and brownie points from dealing with the bat crisis. So I left her to it - because I knew she'd be really pissed off to miss the CSI catch-up on Five. She lives out in the wilds, travels by train and is pathetically excited by the fact she can now get Sky as her husband has relented and said they could have it. She couldn't get any Five signal before.
WTF???! Couldn't she arrange her own installation and direct debit?
So I am really, really sorry, and I can't apologise to the bat population enough, but Tweedledum wanted it more than me, so I left the poor creature in her care.
Just thank God she prefers CSI to Ozzy Osbourne...
Sure, since they've started to landscape round us, all the birds are back and we have an abundance of creepy-crawlies. But I didn't really expect to see a bat in one of our training rooms. Zooming around in perfect circles, desperate to escape.
I know that feeling.
Poor critter. Instead of closing the door and leaving it in peace, I made the mistake of yelling out that there was a bird in the training room. This was before I realised that it couldn't be a bird - birds produce more noise and more shit when alarmed.
The new girl decided to catch the critter by trying to drop a tea-towel on it. The sensible creature retreated to the top of a 2-metre door and folded up very tightly. In the meantime we folded down a partition door, to offer it an escape route outside, and called the RSPCA.
And here's where I did the cruel thing. I offered to stay while the RSPCA came but one of my most hateful colleagues wanted the kudos and brownie points from dealing with the bat crisis. So I left her to it - because I knew she'd be really pissed off to miss the CSI catch-up on Five. She lives out in the wilds, travels by train and is pathetically excited by the fact she can now get Sky as her husband has relented and said they could have it. She couldn't get any Five signal before.
WTF???! Couldn't she arrange her own installation and direct debit?
So I am really, really sorry, and I can't apologise to the bat population enough, but Tweedledum wanted it more than me, so I left the poor creature in her care.
Just thank God she prefers CSI to Ozzy Osbourne...
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
doppleganger
My mother excelled herself this week.
She brought a strange ginger cat into the house, fed Tigger's medication to it, then brought it up to my room, for a fuss.
Apparently, she had been in the garden talking to a neighbour when the cat came up. She assumed it was Tig.
When she headed for the house, it followed her in. So being an opportunist, she pounced and administered the daily Metacam dose.
She dismissed the ballistic reaction of dogs to cat/cat to medication as just a normal Tuesday morning set-to, really.
I was upstairs, enjoying a morning off. Or to be more honest, recovering from a hangover after my first night on the town with Jill and Scott, in some 6 years.
Hard to say who was more surprised when he turned up in my room, me or the poor ginger tom.
His name is Bruno, he lives just round the corner and has earned his Reservoir Mogs colours by fighting Jasmine, Bailey and Gromit.
She brought a strange ginger cat into the house, fed Tigger's medication to it, then brought it up to my room, for a fuss.
Apparently, she had been in the garden talking to a neighbour when the cat came up. She assumed it was Tig.
When she headed for the house, it followed her in. So being an opportunist, she pounced and administered the daily Metacam dose.
She dismissed the ballistic reaction of dogs to cat/cat to medication as just a normal Tuesday morning set-to, really.
I was upstairs, enjoying a morning off. Or to be more honest, recovering from a hangover after my first night on the town with Jill and Scott, in some 6 years.
Hard to say who was more surprised when he turned up in my room, me or the poor ginger tom.
His name is Bruno, he lives just round the corner and has earned his Reservoir Mogs colours by fighting Jasmine, Bailey and Gromit.
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Gerr-cats are getting bigger every day
Mum and Tyler were having one of those generation bonding moments in front of the tv. Tyler was pointing at the screen, then clapping.
"Gerr-cat! Gerr-cat!"
Well, nearly. It was a tiger. And jaguars are also gerr-cats, apparently.
"Gerr-cat! Gerr-cat!"
Well, nearly. It was a tiger. And jaguars are also gerr-cats, apparently.
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
Cat-sitting
This has taken on a new dimension, since Scott bought a timed feeder.
Yesterday I nipped round. Holly was being her usual fantastic feline self. She seemed a bit taken aback to see me, but showed me the wonderful cardboard box collection (used to hold camping equipment you know! Amazing! Good corrugated cardboard but not claw-proof - bargain!) and did the wonderful hostess bit. The timed feeder was open, so I couldn't play the feeding time card. I could still play sweet wrapper Subbuteo, so she decided I was still fair value.
Alas, Rumpole had unfinished business. The last time I saw Rumpole was the day I collected Scott for the Cambridge trip. So he packed a bag, and Feeder on Speed-dial arrived. Then FOSD buggered off as well.
Now Rumpole is normally a generous purry soul, but last night I copped for the fallout.
Still, I have most of my fingers, so it's not all bad news.
Yesterday I nipped round. Holly was being her usual fantastic feline self. She seemed a bit taken aback to see me, but showed me the wonderful cardboard box collection (used to hold camping equipment you know! Amazing! Good corrugated cardboard but not claw-proof - bargain!) and did the wonderful hostess bit. The timed feeder was open, so I couldn't play the feeding time card. I could still play sweet wrapper Subbuteo, so she decided I was still fair value.
Alas, Rumpole had unfinished business. The last time I saw Rumpole was the day I collected Scott for the Cambridge trip. So he packed a bag, and Feeder on Speed-dial arrived. Then FOSD buggered off as well.
Now Rumpole is normally a generous purry soul, but last night I copped for the fallout.
Still, I have most of my fingers, so it's not all bad news.
Thursday, 29 May 2008
New additions to the Pesky Critters
For the past month, I've been walking the dogs before work, in a sad attempt to get fit.
It has failed. Largely due to the inordinate amount of time we owners spend gabbing while the dogs run around chasing things.
So here are the new members (photos not available)
Michael and Marley (Jack Russell x mutt)
Gail and Jack (another Jack Russell)
Julie and Sandy (big mutt, soppy)
Cathy and Tyler (big Staffie)
Joe and Blake (black laborador)
Two owners I keep forgetting, but the dogs are Casper (golden laborador) and Sally (King Charles Spaniel)
Craig and Simba, Lucy (big brown mutts, rocket propelled)
So the dogs now have a social life and are happy pack creatures. The cats hate it. Especially since the morning that Michael came round to collect us. He's eleven, autistic, we were missing and that's not in his scheme of things so he came to get us. Marley, 6 months old and a bouncy puppy, invited himself in and made himself right at home. Gail and Jack waited outside, as Jack had weighed up the cats and decided that the gatepost was about as far as he could safely go.
It might not be healthy, but it is fun. A mismatched group with a common interest, talking a lot of enjoyable rubbish and having a good time.
Like the MNG in the pub, but with chewy sticks.
It has failed. Largely due to the inordinate amount of time we owners spend gabbing while the dogs run around chasing things.
So here are the new members (photos not available)
Michael and Marley (Jack Russell x mutt)
Gail and Jack (another Jack Russell)
Julie and Sandy (big mutt, soppy)
Cathy and Tyler (big Staffie)
Joe and Blake (black laborador)
Two owners I keep forgetting, but the dogs are Casper (golden laborador) and Sally (King Charles Spaniel)
Craig and Simba, Lucy (big brown mutts, rocket propelled)
So the dogs now have a social life and are happy pack creatures. The cats hate it. Especially since the morning that Michael came round to collect us. He's eleven, autistic, we were missing and that's not in his scheme of things so he came to get us. Marley, 6 months old and a bouncy puppy, invited himself in and made himself right at home. Gail and Jack waited outside, as Jack had weighed up the cats and decided that the gatepost was about as far as he could safely go.
It might not be healthy, but it is fun. A mismatched group with a common interest, talking a lot of enjoyable rubbish and having a good time.
Like the MNG in the pub, but with chewy sticks.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Tig on the warpath - 2
Poor cat.
Teeth removed and trying not to wobble over. He struggles with anaesthetic and tries to hang on to his last shred of cat dignity. We've had this scenario for about five days now. I think (hope) he's acting up a little, as he seems fine in the garden when he thinks we are not looking.
Then we keep pouncing on him, to administer capsules of toxic substance.
We are at the half-way stage and his goodwill has run out. He's back to snarling at full volume, good power behind the claws and first class scowling maintained for hours at a time.
If he didn't seem a bit on the light side, and a teeny bit scared, I'd be well pleased at the arsey attitude. But he is a bit underweight, and he does look scared.
He isn't being Tig.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
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?
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?
Monday, 31 March 2008
Greetings from Chez Mogs
It's been a bit on the quiet side here, the only noteworthy events are two quite sad ones.
The first concerns the elegant Eric. Last week he was playing mind games with the dogs, stretched full length in the best space in the house, yawning menacingly at them. Oh yes, this cat could yawn with menace.
On Good Friday we noticed Eric was definitely keeping tight-lipped about something. A bit of skullduggery involving buttered toast and marmite persuaded him to open up. His bottom fangs were missing :( Seeing as he'd already lost the top-right one, cracked and removed long since, this was not a good look. I expect they are embedded in the neck of some wee beastie somewhere, but they looked better on Eric.
The second one concerns Gromit. He is definitely showing signs of severe aging, made even worse by comparing him with 2-year-old Bailey. He's back at the vets tonight, and I'm preparing for the worst. All his ailments are catching up with him, but at least we know Patrick will tell us straight what the outcome is.
The bottom line is that both pets are old, Gromit is 12 years old and Eric will be 12 soon. But I forgot to tell them I expected pet immortality from them, not just furballs and mucky pawprints everywhere.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Negotiation, a la Greebo
Don't get me wrong, I love Greebo dearly but he is a weird cat. He doesn't approach problems in the same way the others do.
Like this morning. Normally, he's a very outdoors sort. He's not given to joining in the territorial battle for any cosy areas in my house. But early this morning Manchester decided to go a bit chilly so he joined in the scrap for the bedroom.
Not by staking a place on the top of the bed, that is too obvious in GreeboWorld. He did it by going under the duvet, burrowing underneath Tig then standing up (still under duvet!) to knock Tig over the edge onto the floor. Then stayed there purring away quite happily, while Tig tried to work out what had hit him.
As Tig is the original Nice-but-Dim, this could take a while.
Like this morning. Normally, he's a very outdoors sort. He's not given to joining in the territorial battle for any cosy areas in my house. But early this morning Manchester decided to go a bit chilly so he joined in the scrap for the bedroom.
Not by staking a place on the top of the bed, that is too obvious in GreeboWorld. He did it by going under the duvet, burrowing underneath Tig then standing up (still under duvet!) to knock Tig over the edge onto the floor. Then stayed there purring away quite happily, while Tig tried to work out what had hit him.
As Tig is the original Nice-but-Dim, this could take a while.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Monday, 10 September 2007
Catbook
I can't be bothered doing Catbook entries for the Mogs just yet, but here are some facts about them.
Tig likes to sit with his front paws in the water bowl
Eric likes Baileys ice cream, and smelly blue cheese
Greebo likes to make a fuss of Jehovah's Witnesses on Sunday morning
Jasmine is terrified of sneezing people
So if anyone wants any of the weirdos, just let me know!
Tig likes to sit with his front paws in the water bowl
Eric likes Baileys ice cream, and smelly blue cheese
Greebo likes to make a fuss of Jehovah's Witnesses on Sunday morning
Jasmine is terrified of sneezing people
So if anyone wants any of the weirdos, just let me know!
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