On cats there is precious little this month: most of the news revolves not round what they are doing but where they going to be living. The house I was looking at up the road looks like a non-starter as the CAP (the social security) are baulking at paying higher rent for a larger house for one person. Cats are not dependants, apparently.

A damn shame, as it happens because this place was ideally suited for me, the mogs - and my library. It was close to the shops, too making those litter runs much easier. For the cats there was a huge space allowing for two runs, one inside and one external. But... The morning coffee club was in full swing this morning (19.06) and I was in full whinge when Gary, an estate agent (a Realtor to some readers), mentioned his office had a rental property on their books, their first.

We went up to have a look at it immediately: it was smaller and cheaper (therefore far more attractive to the social). To be honest, it wasn't ideal for me but for the boys and girls it looked very good. The reason: two connected outbuildings, solid stone constructions with tiled roofs, that were used for animals in the distant past which just need fencing off to create the pen. This'll give them a large grass and gravel run with access to the two "sheds" and a covered area as well. There's also an unattached garden accessible down a path which could also have their original wooden shed set up on it.

So, happy cats: for me it has an average-size kitchen and good-sized lounge/dining-room. Upstairs there are two bedrooms, one large and one for guests, and a bathroom. Up more stairs is a converted attic. This could be a large lounge or a large bedroom. Ah, options... Whatever happens it'll be lovely to have the main body of cats back chez moi; since the collapse of the log house plans they have been away from me for far too long. It'll be great to reconnect with them, to watch their interactions. More to the point, it presents the opportunity to try to tame the more feral members of the clan.

LBC is becoming a little more approachable; once you can touch her she's happy to be fussed. Laurel, however, is a different matter completely, the chances of her ever being anything other than totally "sauvage" are remote. My big concern is Hardy of the Freeman, Hardy, and Willis brotherhood. Rescued as kittens last year from a drunken neighbour who wanted to shoot them (and any other cat), Hardy was the first to lose his fear and come to me. Within a couple of days of living in the Shed he'd reverted to being feral and now I can't get near him. I must try to get him back.

The same Gary as mentioned earlier did his good deed to the cat world a few weeks back. At a brocante, a species of car-boot sale, his wife spotted a tiny kitten in a box by a table of wares. They have four cats already and Gary immediately put his foot down when he saw Nina fawning over the kit. Later on though he saw a French family he knew also pawing over the box and its occupant. For reasons best left unknown he wasn't happy with the idea of this lot having the kitten and stepped in, taking the box and staking his claim. The kitten, weaned, arrived during coffee one morning last week: a pedigree Birman male called Nico. He's absolutely gorgeous. I thought of the Birman - hearth-rug hybrid who lives with me and wished them luck. As I write, Gus is in my lap butting my hands and exercising the spell-check function. He wants his breakfast, I want to finish this article!

And, moving itself is going to fun as the follow-up from the major works of earlier has been digging up the road I live on. Outside the front door is a 10-foot deep trench. The pavement is about 2-foot wide so there's no moving any furniture for awhile. On the plus side, it has provided the house cats with hours of fascination: My new best friend, the dump truck driver, starts his engine at about 0820. Demi, Dru, and Newbie arrive on the landing from the lounge about two seconds later. Hardened old-timers Fatnip and Gus stay put. After some twenty minutes the dumper goes off leaving my other new best friend, the JCB driver, to start excavating. Strangely, this activity coaxes the youngsters back to the lounge window where digger man works possibly unaware of his audience crouched behind the curtains.

Thought for the day:
The logistics of shifting 29 cats to new quarters is just starting to make me suddenly sit up at night...

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...