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May
31

Olympic Cat Rescue

Hurray, the Olympic torch has arrived all the way from Olympia, lit by the rays of the sun in a Jamie Oliver salad bowl and then almost extinguished by tractor fumes outside Camborne. From the moment it was kindled by the ladies dressed in Travelodge shower curtains, backed up by half a dozen blokes in Mary Quant frocks, I felt the growing excitement in me, knowing that its arrival heralded the disappearance of cricket, football and Jeremy Kyle from our screens for several months. That alone justifies the expenditure!

I was last in Greece a couple of years ago and indeed did visit Olympia dressed in a bright orange top and stretch pants. We were on a cruise, well, I was on the cruise…..my suitcase was on a tour of Gatwick. The shipping company had loaned me their official day wear for such a drama. The top came with the company logo emblazoned on it and because of that, from a distance, I looked like one of the official tour guides of the ancient ruins. It took me three circuits of the site to shake off a group of Japanese tourists who were hanging off my every word.

Weaving in and out of the fallen ancient Greek buildings were some thin but very well maintained cats and I must admit I did stop to make a fuss of these streamlined felines. I have always loved cats but the enemy, the good lady wife, has had her reservations about them. She has been forced to live with my little Pablo and Taggart, bravely facing dead birds, live frogs, fur ball regurgitation and best of all a discarded bat circling the bedroom and landing on the duvet. However, she is always the first to step forward and help animals and Sunday last saw her in full swing. We were in a Greek restaurant in Plymouth late at night when a passer by popped her head in and announced that a small cat was sat in the window of the abandoned shop opposite. We all jumped up and sure thing, there was a very young cat peering out at us. Operation Trapped Pussy kicked into action, the key holder was called, the RSPCA were called, the agents for the building were called, even the police, fire, 771 Squadron RNAS Culdrose and Shelterbox were considered but then, the enemy had a good idea.

‘It looks hungry! Let’s get it some food before help arrives.’

The owners of the Greek restaurant were summoned and for several minutes they poked grilled lamb chops through the letter box. The cat, alarmed by the attention, bolted! Then another waiter arrived.

‘Would it like a bowl of chips?’ he said. ‘Or maybe a salad?’

I am guessed he was not a cat owner but thanked him for the tray of food.

What about the cat I hear you cry. The last I saw of it, was vanishing through the open skylight from where it came and then skipping across the roof to freedom. I didn’t bother to wait for the emergency services. Breaking into a shop and treading into a pile of discarded lamb bones, cold chips and feta cheese, tends to annoy the police, let alone the owner of the shop.

Yours

Fitz