Feeling peckish the other evening, but too idle for a full-blown supper, I thought a 'croque monsieur (the French version of a cheese and ham toasted sandwich) would be nice. Without one of those Breville thingies it's a little more user-intensive with the toaster, but the result is as good, with some imagination. In went the bread, on went the toaster, off I went to the lounge.

An aroma wafted in to where I was sitting; it had an underlying hint of heated dough but there was a more pungent smell that really caught in the nostrils. I couldn't quite place it but...it was kind of familiar.

The toaster pinged, I took out the slices and buttered them prior to adding ham and cheese. Something smelt deeply unpleasant. I looked in the appliance. Holy toasted turds, Batman! I stepped back in horror. How...?

There was only one candidate: Gus. Asking how I know will involve discussing subject matter not for family reading - but if you're familiar with your animals...well. I was, however, stunned by his agility.

So, Gus is in utter disgrace, complete and utter, unlikely ever to return to grace. The toaster is in the bin. And the idea of hot bread products makes my stomach lurch.

Given his overall hairiness, I thought of changing his name to Rug but it took ten weeks before he responded to "Gus". This was only achieved by sounding really excited when I called him and waving a piece of chicken under his nose. Success, eventually. The down-side is that whenever I call him now he attacks my hand.

The move dangles overhead in true Damocles fashion. Of the three houses I've seen to date, the first one (ideal for me and the mogs) was unofficially vetoed by the Social who were against one person renting a three-bedroom house, adding I'd have to pay the extra rent myself.

The second house was, at first glance, alright at a squeeze. There was a choice of two areas for the cats, one in some outbuildings that could be fenced off and the other in the unattached garden. It was cheaper than I'm paying now which would be acceptable to the Social. The drawback was size - I couldn't fit my library in...

The third house, which I saw today (July 6), is the same price as I pay now but smaller than either the current or second house. But, there is an attached garden with a big water-proof, insulated shed. Fencing the garden properly will create a run of approximately 70m2 plus shelter/sleeping quarters of 20m2. This is nearly double the 48m2 they have now. I can't estimate the new cubic metre-age until the roof goes on, but it'll be much, much bigger than the 120m3 they currently use.

And today produced another good reason to get the Shed-Dwellers shifted; walking through the long grass to the standpoint I almost stepped on a large snake. I booked my place in GB's hop, skip, and jump team for 2012 and the snake set some kind of land speed record. It wasn't quite as bad as the time I put my hand on an adder on the Pembroke Coast Path. I could understand it being agitated, but at least it didn't have to go home and change. The snake at the Shed was a grass snake, not dangerous to anything other than worms and small amphibians, least of all a camp of well-armed cats.

Perversely then, and despite the attractions of the third house, I've decided to go for House No.2. The garden, once it's cleared of brambles, waist high grass and yes, snakes- has the advantage of a pen of almost any size I care to build. Admittedly, the Shed-Dwellers will be back to their original wooden shed; but the back of that will be sheltered from the prevailing westerlies by a tall hedgerow. Either side of that there'll be additional roofed areas for shelter. And then, of course, they'll have a large grass area for whatever they want to do... Work begins next Thursday (July 16).

Monday July 20: in an ideal world it would've started; but no, the grass is still high as an elephant's eye. So maybe next week, or the week after - who knows. In the mean-time I went truck-hunting as it's time to move the log house from storage in Le Havre to storage in le Vigeant. An HGV-driving mate drove me into Poitiers to get prices from a couple of companies. The first one we visited looked perfect: 410 euros for the tractor and trailer with the 900kms round-trip thrown in. Excellent. What wasn't excellent was the 4000€ insurance deposit. What!? Gary and I aren't exactly Thelma and Louise… Jake and Elwood maybe but, even so, we're not going thrashing through the countryside at the head of a convoy of cop cars...oh, well, yes, I know they did but...

Also they wanted the money to be paid by card; they turned down a banker's cheque and threw their hands up in horror at the thought of cash on the premises. And it had to be the "priceless" piece of plastic, too. Back to square one -again.

Tim Hurrell is an English expat living in the Poitou-Charentes region of Western France. He regularly pulls his underwear over his jeans* to rescue the local stray cat population, of which he has 29 in various stages of age and health. He continues despite poor judgement and worse luck - occasionally he's able to blame someone else. Plans to open to a boarding cattery to supplement the rescue work are temporarily on hold. He's writing a book, pressing on with the cats, and mutters darkly about not buying that micro-brewery when he had the chance. *think Superman's costume...