Last night after a lovely evening out with my husband, I felt ‘inspired’ to write about my cat adventures of last week. Sadly, the internet ate my blog post, Damian blames me, but I’m sticking to my story. So here goes my attempt at re-writing it as well the second time around.

If it wasn’t Damian getting me up early recently, last Wednesday morning I was awoken by the most awful sound I’ve EVER heard. At 5:30 am on Wednesday 11th September, Purl harked up her first fur-ball. It wasn’t so much a fur-ball, more of a fur-mouse. To that noise Damian said, ‘she’s your cat’.

I was one of those cat owners who said, ‘my cat never gets fur balls, aren’t I lucky’… She just hadn’t done it yet. 10 months worth of incessant grooming was laying in a pile somewhere in my house. There was a chance I would walk into it before reaching the light switch, so I put my slippers on.

I did miss it, but the sight of what I saw will be forever etched in my memory. It did look like she had given birth to a mouse, or at least regurgitated one.

Suddenly there is a desperate need to grow some cat grass (and maybe some cat nip, Purl does get spoiled). I found a great pet store right next to a yarn store, how opportune. I planted my seeds on Sunday and now eagerly await germination. If this doesn’t work, I’m giving gardening away forever.