I went round to see Paul and Heather last night. It wasn't long before the conversation turned to cats.
"Don't get a farm cat," said Paul, "They're just wild." He went on to tell me a story of someone who got a farm kitten that turned out to be some sort of mini leopard cub, shooting round the house like a furry cannonball, leaving unfathomable devestation in its tiny trail.
I've had lots of advice about what type of cat to get, once I move in to my new place. It's not even a certainty that I will get one - I just thought it would give me some company.
"Oh Matt! You've got to get one of these!" said Paul, laughing at his phone. He showed me a picture of an Exotic Shorthair cat, which, if you can imagine it, looks like it's been drawn by a Manga artist. It had massive eyes, a tiny little nose and cute little ears.
"You will be popular, with one of those!" he said. I'll say! He showed it to Heather and she melted into that sighing sound all* girls make when they see something adorable. It's a cute cat, the Exotic Shorthair.
We looked it up. They're a pedigree breed that cost between £400 and £700 and there's a 50% chance that they'll get a terrible disease of the kidneys.
"Hmmm, decisions, decisions..." said Paul, laughing.
It isn't a certainty, the cat thing. The thing is though, I keep telling people I'd like to get a cat and they keep giving me advice about it. I've only got myself to blame.
*OK, most, not all. You know the sound I mean though.
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