And the Only Explanation I can Find.

Our first cat, was a student flat cat.

One of our Roomies brought her all the way from Glasgow to Edinburgh in her handbag, and when she fished her out of the bottom, we found a Puddle, and that is what she became.

Puddle was a living nightmare, she lived to hunt, and her prey - us.

My mum was terrified to stay at the flat. She would wake in the camp bed with Puddle standing on two legs, front two paws under the cover and her eyes watching for any move. At the first sign of movement, attack. That cat could move her paws faster than lightning and wham. You were scratched. Feet, hands, arse. Anything that moved was a target.

Worse ever was the day the plumber came. "What the cat" I said, "ha ha", he said, "Does she bite", "yes, and attacks". He laughed and carried on. About 2 hours.. later as he was getting ready to go. I turned and saw Puddle poised for attack balanced precariously on the top of the door frame.

"Watch Out" I yelled. "Ha ha - Mad cat attack", he said just before Puddle landed on his head and shoulder and started clawing at his back.

Oh, for the joy of a cat, who only steals your seat and wakes you up at 5 for the loo!


Sorry for those of you looking for the newspaper photo today, I looked, but I couldn't find. I'll have a good rake next week and get it up sometime.