eight lives left?

We're not having a lot of luck with our brood of animals just lately. There's an old saying that bad things happen in three's; the Guinea Pig died this month, our older dog has a brain tumour and now the cat has returned from her daily adventures nursing an injured leg. Mr H knew something was wrong when she didn't turn up for the evening dog walk (she always goes too). We've no idea what happened but this is the first time she's had any accidents or illness so she's not done too badly so far.

We rescued Molly seven years ago when the children were only 4 and 7 years old. The cat charity woman came and assessed our suitability and then read out a long list of possible candidates. The first dozen or so were very old or didn't like children and about half of those had at least one missing limb (eg. Tom and Jerry, both twenty years old, blind, deaf, and 6 legs between them! I was open minded but this was pushing it a bit!) Finally she came to Molly and couldn't quite believe herself that she had a cat on the list that had all it's limbs, liked children and was relatively young (she was 3 and a half). The children's faces suddenly lit up with relief and we set off the next day to see her.

Her foster family said that she was the noisiest cat they'd ever had. Perfick. We took her home that day and so began my steep learning curve about owning a cat. I've always been more of a dog person but as far as cats go Molly is pretty cool (as the kids would say).