Fun and games

Ed and I played golf this morning. This is the third time I’ve played, which means I can now put three cards in to get a new (and very high!) handicap. I enjoyed it, but still get tired towards the end of the round and start playing rubbish. Still, I suppose it’ll get better in time.

Then we drove straight to Tesco, piled the shopping in the boot, climbed into the car and switched on. Nothing. Nada. Not so much as a cough, splutter or feeble clearing of the mechanical throat.

Naturally neither of us had a mobile with us, so we hefted back into Tesco to the Customer Services desk and asked to use their phone. They were extremely helpful and Ed rang the RAC.

“An hour and a half,” they said. “A mechanic should be with you in an hour and a half. Do you have a phone number we can ring?”

Er, no.

I moved swiftly and neatly into keeping-Ed-calm mode and dragged him into Tesco’s cafe where we had a drink and a sandwich. That took us five minutes. Then he was itching to get back out and try the car again (with exactly the same result, I might add.)

Fortunately the RAC man got to us in half an hour, and even more fortunately, found us in Tesco’s car park.

“Like looking for a needle in a haystack,” he muttered.

Apparently it was the battery. I protested.

“It was fine when we left home and when we drove here. How can it be the battery?”

He gave me a pitying look and said batteries do that. Just stop right there, when they feel their number is up. This one’s number was up and it went to join the Happy Batteries in the Sky. The RAC man very kindly put a new battery in for us and we were away.

So something of a long haul from when we left home this morning, but at least we’re back home now and all is well.

The solution!

Hooray! Rejoice with me (and Ed and all the family) for Melchi (the cat) has a home!

While we were waiting for the Cat Protection people to ring (they didn’t) Rachel-next-door rang up. Melchi was now not only allowing her to stroke him, but even to comb him and he purred loudly while she did so.

We decided that there was nothing for it. He would have to be put down (“murder” kept ringing round in my brain.) I rang the family for support. Left youngest daughter in tears and son very stiff and short on the phone. Ed and I started rowing over nothing and we all felt like the proverbial manure.

Had coffee with Rachel-next-door and she offered to house Melchi in her empty but furnished granny flat. It has a magnetic cat flap so he would be able to go in and out as he pleased, she would keep him in for a month so that he knows where his food is, and then he could prowl his usual territory.

We are all thrilled and so thankful. Rachel rang up this evening to say that Melchi has already settled comfortably in his new home, is curled up asleep on his blanket and looking ultra contented.

Isn’t that fantastic?

And just to complete this feeling of pleasure, a friend emailed this story:

A local priest was being honoured at his retirement dinner after 25 years in the parish.

A leading local politician who is a member of the congregation was chosen to make the presentation and to give a little speech at the dinner.

However, he was delayed so the priest decided to say his own few words while they waited:

“I got my first impression of the parish from the first confession I heard here. I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place. The very first person who entered my confessional told me he had stolen a television set and, when questioned by the police, was able to lie his way out of it. He had also stolen money from his parents, embezzled from his employer, had an affair with his best friend’s wife, and taken illicit drugs. I was appalled!

Just as the priest finished his talk, the politician arrived full of apologies for being late. He immediately began to make the presentation and said: “I’ll never forget the first day our parish priest arrived. In fact, I had the honour of being the first person to go to him for confession!”

RSPCA

Ed rang the RSPCA today and found them very helpful. They promptly put him onto the Cat Protection League (I think it was League. Might have been Association or something. But you know what I mean.)

They only operate on Tuesdays and Thursdays (so woe betide your cat if it needs protecting on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays or the weekend) and will ring back tomorrow. But we did glean that there is such a thing as a cat trap. Sounds fiendish, but I have no idea (yet) what it’s like.

Meanwhile, Rachel-next-door is diligently putting Melchi’s food further and further inside the rectory, in the hope of enticing him in and shutting the door behind him. So far it’s been a forlorn hope.

I think we should just leave him to go completely feral. He’s getting food from somewhere (other than the rectory where it’s always available for him) and the rectory garden is full of small wildlife like mice.

Anyway, if he steadfastly refuses to be caught, we won’t have any option. Perhaps he’ll just hang about until the next occupants of the rectory move in and then wish himself on them. And with his gorgeous thick fur they’ll never be able to resist him!

A blow

Just had a phone call from the couple who were going to take the rectory cat. They’ve cried off.

Understandable, really. We haven’t yet been able to catch the cat and they fear that to keep him in when he’s been used to being outside all the time would be bordering on cruel. And they think that as soon as they let him out, he’d hot foot it back to the rectory.

Leaves us with a huge problem, though. If we ever manage to entice the cat into the rectory, what do we do with him then?

Ed is going to ring the RSPCA tomorrow for advice. They have dog catchers, do they also have cat catchers?

So if any of you have any ideas as to what we can do, I’d love to hear them!

Mrs Beamish

For any of you who know anything about the Church of England, this is so true to life that it’s hysterically funny!

Enjoy!

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