I'm Sue. I'm 50 something, and I live in Northumberland near the coast, with my hubby and our two cats aged two years and 1 year respectively.
This is The Tink, aka Tinky. Tinky was originally our neighbour's cat. As a kitten, he became great mates with his wunnerful Ginger buddy, Ross (our Bridge Baby) and spent most of his time at ours with Ross, playing. It got to the point when it was time to go home, he didnt want to go. His whole being would droop and become crestfallen. No sooner would we take him home, but he'd return, and wait hopefully outside the cat flap. He didnt have a flap at his old home. He often got shut out overnight during the winter when it was frosty or hosing down. Ross would come upstairs to tell us his mate was outside and couldn't get in (we have a microchip flap). We used to have to get up in the middle of the night, take the alarm off, unlock everything, and let him in. We kept taking him home, he kept on coming back.
Eventually, we stopped taking him home. When Ross was killed, Tinks owners very generously said that he was more our cat than theirs anyway, and we could keep him.
Tinks is now just over two years of age. A gentle but solemn little lad. Never assumes anything. Likes nothing so much as a piece of cheese, and a snuggle in his favourite hairy cushion, where he treadles and purrs to his heart's content. We know when he's really happy, cos he "grins" and you can see his little fangs.
Next is Moray Monsta (pronounced Murray) aka Moray Mint. Moray's just over a year old. He joined us in the days after Ross's death. A somewhat reactive acquisition, but the best thing we could've done. He was a 3 month old , and came from a rescue. He'd been abandoned in a flat with his sister. His owner was an alcoholic and a drug addict. She did a moonlight flit, leaving the cats behind without food or water. He was handed in by the woman's parents, when they realised what had happened. he came home with us, and boy what a rollercoaster of emotions that set off. Tinks took fright - all he knew was that his wunnerful ginger buddy had disappeared and in his place was this ball of fluff, ferreting round in what was his stuff and his ginger buddy's stuff. Tinks took off, and wouldnt come in. We feared he'd return to his original owners, and it caused some bitter tears. OH was almost prepared to return Moray to the shelter, but being a Jackson Galaxy fan, I persuaded OH to let me try a Jackson plan, involving the spare room, and a den for Moray. Well, long story short, and it's all been told elsewhere, but Moray was a cat wise beyond his kittenhood - he played a wonderfully patient game, never pushing his luck and never making a nuisance of himself. He grew up to tales of Rumplestiltskin and Baba Yaga when we snuggled him off to sleep in his little room, but we'd hear him crying in the night, and one of us would get up and go and sleep with him. Eventually, Tinks became curious too, and this ultimately overcame his horror of the little guy. The final picture is of Moray 3 weeks after we got him. He achieved his goal, and ever since, he's ruled the roost.
Tinks likes to test his daring by occasionally sneaking on to the bed at night for cuddles. He just loves it when he can pluck up the courage. He purrs like billy-o, let's you pet and snuggle him, but after about half an hour he always slinks guiltily off again, like he's been caught out doing something he shouldnt have been. In time, he may come round - he used to sleep on the bed with us and his ginger mate.
Moray likes to snuggle under the duvet and flay my bare skin to ribbons, whilst he treadles on my tummy and sings himself to sleep. It may hurt like hell, but I love him, and I never discourage him. I just bear my scars with fortitude.
My greatest desire would be to retire to Scotland, and to have a nicely rural property backing on to woodland where the cats could be kept in relative safety.
