'The DSM' Editorial - Issue 102 Fabergé
Just as we thought we had said farewell to the last of our visitors... I was doing some light hoeing in the vegetable patch when I heard a ‘chomping’ noise behind me. On looking round I saw a large creature on the compost heap munching on a decomposing courgette. Ascertaining it was a cat and not a rat, and that we don’t have a cat, I called Anna to come and have a look. Her motherly instincts kicked in and she beetled off to get some tuna for the emaciated puss, which it wolfed down. The following day I left for a week in the UK. On my return, the cat is still with us, having two hearty meals a day, has its own food and water bowl, a fluffy cat bed and is called Fabergé. Having two children allergic to cats and not wanting Fabergé squirting his scent on our furniture, if he wants to stay, he will have to live in the outhouse. We have been a dog family for the past fourteen years and are not used to the ways of Br’er cat. Having lunch we heard a scrabbling at the back door and saw...