The good-looking chap on the left is Mr Tom. Now 20, and with a dodgy eye, multiple nicks out of his ears, three (approximately) teeth, bad breath and a kidney problem, he joined the Crussell household about eight years ago after being feral for an unknown amount of time, actually, he just turned up and moved in one day - cats eh?One of the problems with homing a feral is that they tend to remain partly wild, even after years of conditioning there can still be territorial behaviour.
On Sunday morning we woke up to find a pile of cat shit in the living room and cat pee all over every wire I own - how it didn't start an electrical fire I'll never know. We knew who the culprit was and following a shift scolding, One raggy, fleabitten old black mog sheepishly retreated to his "naughty bush" in the garden.
After penance had been served, the old devil was allowed back in and skulked off. Peace reigned in the house for about two hours before I heard the sound of cat retching from the kitchen. I rushed out and there was Tom, about to be sick. As soon as he saw he, he raced for the litter tray in the hallway, lept into it and prompted puking over the side and all over the floor. In itself it's not a pleasant thing to witness, but the fact that he headed for the litter tray to be sick shows a lesson has been well and truly learned.
It was later in the day that we found out Tom had been shut in the living room overnight, no wonder he messed on the floor. It did make Elly and I feel heinously guilty as we'd punished him for something he hadn't done, then showed how well behaved he could be...
(Since this incident occured, Tom has been given extra ham by way of a peace offering, no further crapping has been reported...)
