9 March 2006
On balance, I think perhaps Bazza does like living here; I am typing around him as I type (a process prone to error). He's becoming as omnipresent as the girls used to be; his eyes follow me around the house, with the rest of his body twitching after. He can be full of menace one moment, utterly ridiculous the next - bone-pure cat, in other words. And beautiful, in that same bone-pure way - no frills, nothing fancy, just a lean mean killing machine with all the beauty of line and design. And black, of course, which does help.
What doesn't help, is that he won't eat. Really truly, he will not; barely a mouthful, in a day and a half. If he doesn't pig out overnight, I'm taking him back to the vets tomorrow. Not in a 'this one’s broken, and he’s still under guarantee' sort of way - a day and a half and I adore him already, even when he draws blood - but I've spent years anxiously watching over cats who won't eat, and I really didn't expect it of this one, and I need to get him fixed. He's not going to stay lead-in-his-bones heavy if he doesn't eat. So I am fretful and concerned, and it's taking up too much of my time...
© Chaz Brenchley 2006
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.