Planet Mad

The RSPCA lady phoned me this morning, at a time when I should have been awake but wasn't. Through my first-woken blur I heard, "I'm in the area to do another visit - I'll come and see you at the same time. It'll definitely be before lunch." If there's one thing guaranteed to wake you up it's the knowledge that a complete stranger - on whom pet ownership is dependent - is coming to visit your flat. In my frantic running-round-tidying, I identified a nasty smell in the kitchen and tracked it down to the veg box. What happens if I'm banned from keeping pets because I can't even look after vegetables?

They've just been round. I gave them such strong coffee that hopefully they didn't notice the smell of squishy brown broccoli. They seemed quite happy and we talked about using the windows as an exit to the outside world: they were of the impression, as Dr Tom was, that the cats would train us quite quickly to let them back in. That's one less thing to worry about.

Now the lady has to make a report to the centre ("I really can't see any problems at all" I hope) and then they contact us to arrange collection. It's all scarily sudden, but as Rob and I have spent all weekend going "CATS!" at each other, it's probably not before time. All we have to worry about now is procurring cat carriers and the slightly thorny issue of naming, of which more later, once I've drunk some tea and managed to eat breakfast.