It's four weeks today since we first met Shimmy. And Amelie's got the battle scars to prove it. Our Savlon bill's gone through the roof, and the Cat Rules are running to a second page. But a lot's changed in the past month. Not only has Shimmy grown on us, but her stomach's grown on her. We're praying it's down to good living and a healthy appetite, but there's a chance she could be stuffed full of kittens.
So to be on the safe side, I looked up the gestation period of a cat today. It appears that whilst Lisa might take months to pick up a rubbish heartbeat, Shimmy can drop a litter in nine weeks. It's hard to conceive that she was pregnant when we found her, but if she was, she's in the same trimester as Lisa. Which explains why they're both eating so much.
Amelie's guerilla affection techniques might have proved a little traumatising since she moved in, but Shimmy's remained surprisingly friendly throughout. I like to believe that her attachment to me in particular is down to the unbreakable bond that's been forged over the past month by the constant care I've provided, and my unfailing dedication to the feline cause. But as it transpires, she'll cuddle up to anyone...
She met another man for the first time yesterday, and she was all over him like a rash. She's not so much a pussy as a hussy.