Krazy Kats

Thus far, our first autumn in Spain was not going the way we had anticipated. Our carefully-laid plans were being hijacked by a pair of hyperactive kittens. Neither Jaffa nor Minnie seemed to realise they were guests, staying with us only as long as it took to line up a loving home for them, then we would say goodbye to them and get our lives back on track. We knew that at some level we would be sorry to see them go; after all their first few weeks of life must have been harsh - while Tango was sheltering in our house from every rainstorm, they were probably bobbing about like corks in the storm-water somewhere nearby (this part of Spain is surprisingly rainy) .

But we were doing all we could for our temporary foster-charges: providing them with free medical care, dry surroundings and a comfortable place to sleep. Tango stepped up to the mark as well and proved herself to be an indulgent mother, ready to feed at any time of the day or night. She seemed to favour Jaffa over Minnie but that's probably because she was still trying to work out if Minnie was actually hers or had been introduced, like some sort of weird-looking cuckoo into her care when she wasn't paying attention.

Meantime, Jaffa and Minnie were determined to make the most of every opportunity presented to them. They quickly came to the conclusion that far from being a temporary waystation, our house was a permanent adventure park for kittehs. I assume they believed that their lives had been quite tough enough gracias, and from now on their only responsibility was to have fun twenty-four hours a day.

Sue and I quickly became used to dodging kittens as we went about our business: usually Jaffa would be chasing Minnie counter-clockwise around the lounge until by an unspoken agreement they would abruptly switch roles and Minnie would pursue Jaffa. It was if an invisible spring had wound itself almost to breaking point in one direction and the only way the tension could be released was by allowing it to uncoil in the opposite direction for a while. The kittens quickly found they couldn't get up the necessary rotational speed to make themselves pleasantly dizzy if they stayed at floor level; however, if they used our new leather couch as a launching pad, with its superior grip and traction - why it was as if it had been specially designed for the modern kitten in a hurry!

Every so often they would take a break from their fruitless attempts to break the sound barrier in our lounge, saunter over to Tango, push and jostle into position and then get down to the serious pursuit of guzzling as much milk as they could. This generally involved unscrupulous tactics such as one kitten (usually Jaffa) trying to monopolise all of the available food by slyly nudging his sibling off whatever nipple she was currently attached to.

Following a feed was generally our quiet time: exhausted by their relentless pursuit of giddy hedonism they would drift off into a well-deserved nap.

As time went on, and still there was no queue forming outside our house to adopt Jaffa and Minnie we came to the conclusion that our attempts so far were laughably inadequate. We would have to sit down and give serious consideration to more radical plans to shift a kitten off our hands for good.

And that's what we did.

How Much is that Kitteh in the Window?

It was now autumn 2007 and Tango, our recently adopted ginger female, decided the time was ripe to drop her bombshell. Having spent most of the previous few weeks sprawled on our sofa, especially when there was a downpour, Tango gave not a single clue that she was burdened by any maternal responsibilities whatsoever. And then one day, having lulled Sue and I into a false sense of security, she presented us with two kitten-shaped problems.

We discussed at length what we would do about our multiplying cat problem. Eventually our minds were made up and our resolve was steadfast: we decided that it would be impractical, verging upon mad, to have three cats running around our house, so we planned to take a cute picture of the two kittehs, snuggled together, that would melt the heart of anyone who saw our poster. If all worked according to plan, people would beg to be allowed to take a kitten off our hands.

But first we had to take our temporary charges to the vets in town for a check-up. Sonia and Monica sexed them (one male, one female), examined them and pronounced them both healthy. The next step was to give them names: the male, ginger kitten was named 'Jaffa' and the darker female 'Minnie'. And finally, the cute photograph which would have the cat-lovers of Alcossebre queuing outside our house - maybe we could even have an auction, and turn a small profit on the deal!

But the need for a cute picture threw up our first problem: while Jaffa stood out, with his vivid blue eyes and his ginger and white markings Minnie, by contrast, was camouflaged by nature - you had to look twice to be sure of which was her front end, and which was her rear end. The photograph (above) used in the poster still looks to me like a cute little ginger kitten sleeping on top of a rather messy and bedraggled bundle of rags.

And that was the best photograph we could get of the two together. Jaffa, naturally photogenic, preened himself when the camera was about; but to get them both looking simultaneously cute was beyond our powers. However, we calculated that we needed to photograph them both together, stressing that they were an inseparable pair, and that the ugly duckling was part of the deal if you wanted Jaffa. Don't get me wrong - from time to time, Minnie could look almost cute, proving that the camera, if it didn't lie, was in imminent danger of perjuring itself.

Anyway, the photograph had been chosen, the text translated into English and Spanish, and the posters went up all over Alcossebre. We decided that all we had to do next was to sit back and wait for the rush.

And that's what we did.