I miss Mad Cat and all his handicapped and freaky friends. As much as I hated and feared him (in equal measure), he was a focal point of day. Mad Cat gave me something to channel my hatred and anger towards. I think I hated him about as much as he did me, and that sort of equilibrium is hard to come by these days.
My new estate is all quiet and posh, and there isn't a disabled animal in sight! The most I've seen is some bloody ugly stripy cat, waiting to be let in outside one of the houses we viewed when we were still on the market for a new house. So now there's no need for me to keep my camera to hand, so I could try to get photographic evidence of three-legged cat pissing in my flowerbed (I'd become a sort of deranged paparazzo, stalking disgusting animals instead of being a functioning member of society). Instead, I look out of my balcony doors and yearn for a stran animal to hobble past, so I can feel normal again. I mean, yes I can walk out to my car without fear of being hissed at and attacked by an insane and possibly feral feline, but is that what life is really about? Who knows the secrets, eh? Sigh.
Mr Bunny does not read this blog, so this is something I can say freely here, without fear of being served with divorce papers. It's the little things, innit?
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