(My dearest, closest companion from December 1992
until her death on May 22 2003)


My friend Ruth said to me, "Why do they always come to me?".
I replied, "because you stand there with a bowl of food going, 'Puss, Puss, Puss...'".
Anyway, Poppett was another of Ruth's rescues and, having been catless for a couple of years I thought, "here's a small thing in need of love. That makes two of us", and agreed to take her.

I am used to getting on with cats. Most cats I have ever met seem suddenly like long-lost friends. Poppett spent the first twenty-four hours under the floor. I called Ruth, "It's no good; she doesn't like me, you'll have to take her back". Ruth coaxed her out from her hiding place and insisted we tried again. She spent most of the next week under a bookcase, but slowly started to investigate me and the house, deciding that we weren't, perhaps, too bad.
After about three weeks she let me stroke her if I approached very gently.

I introduced her to the garden once I was sure she felt at home here. (How do you know when a cat feels at home? When they take over).
She would sit in the window looking out. When I took her to the door she looked at me as if to say, "No! Gardens are for cats that don;t have houses to live in!". So I left it a couple of days, the took her out in the garden and, after a few minutes, picked her up and brought her in again, so she knew she wasn't being evicted. That was it, she obviously knew about cat flaps and has been in and out ever since.

It's been about ten years and I guess you could say we get on quite well together now!

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