Dear Readers, you might remember that we’ve been fostering a fourteen year-old cat called Abbie. Abbie had lived with one lady for the past ten years, until her owner died. Since then, she’s  been in a variety of temporary homes, which has been very traumatic for an anxious, shy cat, who has previously lived a quiet life.

Anyhow, she’s gradually started to come out of her shell. Last week, we discovered that she not only likes tea, but will use unusual tactics to get at it…

Bless her! She’s like Arthur the Kattomeat cat, who used to eat with his paw out of a tin.

And I have discovered a rather convoluted tale concerning Arthur, with an East Finchley link – you can have a look here.

Well, last week Abbie went to the animal hospital for some dental work, and came out minus most of her teeth, poor love. She spent a while under the bed looking very sad, until the painkillers kicked in and she was back to being her queenly self.

She is a creature of regular habits: breakfast should be no later than seven a.m., after lunch it’s time for a brush and at 6 p.m. it’s time for supper. She often jumps up between us while we watch the television, and then it’s time for bed. She is coping with the current heat by finding a patch of sunlight and laying in it. Go figure.

At this point, I would usually put out a call for someone to adopt her but, dear Readers, I can resist her charms no longer. I am worried that a fourteen year-old cat with minimal teeth and the social confidence of a mouse would spend a long, long time waiting for her forever home, and the fear of vet’s bills to come would also be a deterrent for many people. Plus, her charms are subtle, unlike those of some of the younger cats we’ve looked after – she sleeps, eats, comes around for a stroke and then sleeps some more. Perfect. She doesn’t want to go outside, so my garden birds are safe. And so, we’ve decided to adopt her, and to give her the best possible life for the rest of her time. Our fostering days are at an end, for now at least.