Living in rural Bretagne, stray cats and dogs are a way of life.
When this snotty little bundle of fur and meows appeared at the door, the laydee of the house immediately took it under her wing.
I will say, here and now, that I’m not really a cat lover, much prefer my hound, but as we have cats in the house, they are always looked after correctly.
At the time when this thing turned up:
We already had three or four cats (well, she did) so I wasn’t really happy about having yet another one around but she told me that she couldn’t leave it outside to die, which I agreed with, so it stayed.
Revenge was mine though. We were four in the house. Me, a rotund, elderly English bloke, and three French laydees of differing ages, mum and two daughters. None of the other three spoke English. The time came, very early in the piece, to name the ferocious beast.
They all gave their suggestions, but when it came to my turn, I pulled rank slightly, explaining that it was me that was going to be looking after it the most, paying its vet fees and food, as well as not really wanting it there anyway, so I should get to name it. Thus, the cat was called Little Shit.
Three quizzical glances from across the kitchen table, so told them that it meant something small and soft and cuddly.
I know I shouldn’t have, I know it was childish, but I just couldn’t stop myself.
To hear three French voices saying “viens Leeeettlleee Sheeeeet” had me bent over double for days. It finally came to a head when we had visitors, who all fell totally in love with the tiny tortoiseshell furball. Hearing eight Frenchies all saying “Aaaahhhh Leeettle Sheeeeeet” I honestly thought I was going to combust.
I fessed up the next day to much tutting (but secret laughter) and was expecting the name to be changed, but it stuck.
This post is linked with: http://eco-gites.blogspot.fr/2015/03/animal-tales-16.html Head here for more animal fun and foolery.