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When my wife and I first got married, we moved into a mobile home on a farm near Pinewood Studios. It was our first proper place together, which sounds romantic until I mention the heating situation and the fact the walls had roughly the insulation quality of a digestive biscuit.It also became home to our first unofficial pet.
The previous tenants had abandoned their cat when they left, which is a rotten thing to do. He’d gone semi-feral by the time we arrived and spent most of his days roaming the farm looking like he’d seen things no cat should ever see. He had one mangled ear from what I assume was years of losing pub fights with other farm cats.
Every so often he’d appear at our door, stroll in like he owned the place, and collapse by the fire. Usually injured. We’d patch him up, feed him, and after a few days he’d disappear back into the wild again like some tiny furry Clint Eastwood.
For reasons neither my, now ex, wife nor I can explain, we named him Acapulco.
The best bit was that every time we nursed him back to health, we’d come home the next day to find a dead rat on the doorstep as a thank-you gift.Nothing says appreciation quite like rodent murder.
The previous tenants had abandoned their cat when they left, which is a rotten thing to do. He’d gone semi-feral by the time we arrived and spent most of his days roaming the farm looking like he’d seen things no cat should ever see. He had one mangled ear from what I assume was years of losing pub fights with other farm cats.
Every so often he’d appear at our door, stroll in like he owned the place, and collapse by the fire. Usually injured. We’d patch him up, feed him, and after a few days he’d disappear back into the wild again like some tiny furry Clint Eastwood.
For reasons neither my, now ex, wife nor I can explain, we named him Acapulco.
The best bit was that every time we nursed him back to health, we’d come home the next day to find a dead rat on the doorstep as a thank-you gift.Nothing says appreciation quite like rodent murder.